


tip your hat, but walk away

by doofusface



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Angst and Humor, Childhood Friends, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, Mentor/Protégé, Mutual Pining, Revenge, Romantic Fluff, Slow Burn, fun mobsters, it's like baccano minus the immortality, soft mobsters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-05-08 09:14:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14691027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doofusface/pseuds/doofusface
Summary: “Peter won’t be happy about the hit order,” Pepper says, lips pressed together.Friday tilts her head. “Peter has Ben’s blood. He won’t sit.”“Well,” Ned says, tipping his hat to the air in respect. “I suppose May won’t be able to keep him out of the family business after all.”--Peter Parker returns home to his aunt and the Stark family, seeking to avenge the deaths of the Renatis at the hands of the new family edging into Brooklyn and downtown Manhattan: the Greenies, run by a man named Norman Osborn.





	1. prologue: the beginning of the end

**Author's Note:**

> i cant believe this exists now (chap limit a placeholder as usual whoops)
> 
> um some stuff I guess: no AIs, but there's tech? stuff? ye
> 
> have a prologue, my compadres

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT 11/8/18: ya girl's an idiot and went through to change all the floral park refs to forest hills, because even though i google this every time i write a fic, I FORGET IT IMMEDIATELY AFTER

### prologue: the beginning of the end

“It’s a Sicilian message. It means Ben Parker is sleeping with the fishes.”

“Was that a _Godfather_ quote, MJ?”

“Yes.”

“Unfortunate that you’d have to use _that_ one,” Ned frowns, watching Viz wrap the fish and vest back up.

“Peter won’t be happy about the hit order,” Pepper says, lips pressed together. She lays her finely-manicured hands one over the other on her crossed legs, already calculating risks.

Friday tilts her head. “Peter has Ben’s blood. He won’t sit.”

“Well,” Ned says, tipping his hat to the air in respect. “I suppose May won’t be able to keep him out of the family business after all.”

“Shame,” MJ says, sipping tea. “Thought he’d get out clean.”

“You’re happy he’s coming home, though.”

 _Sip._ “Always happy to see Peter.”

Ned quirks a brow, amused, but says nothing.

“Viz, send some guys to pick him up. Make sure he gets to the airport safely,” Tony says finally, a deep frown on his face.

“Yes, sir,” Viz says, starting to walk out. “Would you like me to call the Liberties?”

“Hmm,” Tony hums, scratching his beard. His foot taps in a syncopated rhythm.

MJ sips her tea again; Viz keeps still, like a statue, the package in his hands starting to leak.

“...Sure,” Tony says, raising his chin. “But only to let them know the news. Let’s not be rash. And go take a shower after you throw that out, the smell sticks.”

Viz nods. “Yes, sir.” He spins on his heels, leaving the door slightly ajar on his way out to air the room.

“Waste of fish,” MJ deadpans. “Too bad it’s probably laced.”

“I see the appeal of vegetarianism now,” Friday says, swiping at her nose. “Disgusting.”

“You won’t be saying that when we pull out the branzino tonight, Fri,” Pepper says, standing and turning to her husband. “The press will be all over this.”

“Do what you gotta,” Tony replies, laying back in his chair. “Are the new cannons ready?”

She nods.

“Leeds, with me. We’re going to check on Donna Renati,” he says, stretching to stand. “Then we’re going to bring her here, where it’s safer.”

Ned nods, clicking something on his wrist—a mechanical glove transforms outward, light blaring from the blaster in the palm area. He looks it over quickly, then clicks the button again to shrink the device. “All good.”

Friday’s already jotting down notes. “I’ll call Captain Rogers, it’s his jurisdiction.”

“Wait ‘til your brother has confirmed that the Liberties know our stance, Fri—we don’t want them to run into the Osborns guns blazing,” Pepper says.

“Knowing Viz, he’s probably managed to do it _while_ showering,” she snickers, scribbling another note. “But yes, boss. Of course.”

Pepper chuckles, giving Tony a short wave. “Be safe, and call when you’re with May.” She turns to her apprentice: “MJ, with me—time to see how quickly you can dismantle and divert twenty of New York’s most annoying journalists.”

MJ brings her mug down to her lap, a sly grin plastered on her face. “Am I allowed to drag Oscorp?”

“...Once.”

“Let her go for three, at least,” Tony says with a wave of his hand, moving to the door.

“It was business, Tony,” Pepper frowns, at his heels.

“It was personal, _disguised_ as business,” he says with finality, gesturing open-handed at Friday. “Friday’s been tailing them. We know they’ve had a beef with the Renatis ever since Harry started strolling around with those _goblins_ of his in Forest Hills.”

“Now _that’s_ a name,” Ned smirks, nudging MJ, who had gotten up to join the line to the door. “We should give ‘em a gift.”

“A flurry of green goblin masks raining over downtown Manhattan?” MJ says, eyebrows raising as she freezes, imagining the scene. “... _Art_ , Leeds.”

“I approve that,” Tony points, opening the door. “Friday, call your brother and sister-in-law and make that happen.”

Friday salutes with her free hand, the other writing the circles and dashes of shorthand. “You got it, boss.”

“This is why no one takes us seriously,” Pepper frowns.

“No, this is why they leave us alone,” Tony quips. “Also just the...em, general lack of murder.”

“On our end?”

“On our end.”

“Okay, out the door, _Don_ ,” Pepper says pointedly, kissing his cheek. “I want to get there before they start spinning this on us.”

“See ya, Fri,” MJ says, chugging the last of her tea from her spot behind Pepper. “Hit me up with our new art project, yeah?”

“You got it, MJ,” Friday grins. She waves them all off. “Ned, don’t overcharge the gauntlet, it could backfire.”

“Got it, Fri,” Ned salutes, a boyish grin stamped on his face. “Tell Steve we say hello!”

“ _Leeds_ , feet, moving!” Tony yells from the hallway.

Ned’s expression switches to _Oops_ , and he scurries out the door.

Friday sets her notepad down, finally, and navigates to a familiar number on her phone.

 _Ring. Ring. Ri_ —

“ _Captain Steve Rogers, of the Brooklyn 84th. How may I help you?_ ”

“Hello, Captain Rogers,” Friday says smoothly. “I’m here to alert you to a situation.”

“ _...Friday. How’s it going, kid?_ ”

“Not well.”

“ _The hit at the pier._ ”

“Yes, sir.”

“ _We’re on it. You’ll be the first to know_.”

“Thank you, Captain. And the Liberties _should_ know not to interfere just yet, but if they ask—”

“ _I’ll make sure Bucky and Nat don’t do anything crazy._ ”

“The help is appreciated, Captain. Enjoy your next raise.”

“ _My pleasure, kid. Send my regards to the family_.”

“Of course. We send you ours.”

_Click._


	2. chapter 1: the donna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome to the mobster au where the sayings are fake and the points dont matter

### chapter 1: the donna

_May Parker was to take the reins of the Renati family at the end of the month._

_Alberto Renati was supposed to declare her—his sole heir—Donna at a simple dinner, with the Stark and Liberty Legion bosses and seconds present. He was supposed to retire peacefully, surrounded by his daughter, her husband, and their old friends._

_He was not supposed to be gunned down with hail-like pellets, morphing and bubbling and suffering slow, with the remainder of his family present._

_Ben Parker was not supposed to be there, either—he was supposed to be home, awaiting news of his nephew’s engineering competition in California. He was supposed to hear about Peter placing first, making a name for himself on the right side of the law. He was supposed to hear Viz ring the bell twenty minutes after the hit, and answer it himself—not have a smelly package do the talking._

_But Alberto Renati had always been bad at following the script, and so had asked his dear_ consigliere _to accompany him to the celebration at the pier. Ben, the good man, was happy to oblige._

_After all, with today’s technology, he could read the paper off his phone. See his boy’s achievements from anywhere in the world, including the piers._

_Where’s the harm in that?_

_Laugh, that was humor. And here, find the harm:_

_Festering wounds from a time past, and the arrogance of a devil-grinned man._

_Cronies._

_Guns._

_Rain, rain, rain—the feeling of ill passed through sprays, picturesque where the water meets the land._

_Death—to Kind Al, to his guard._

_May Parker was the next target of those sprays—young enough, still. Cunning. Brainy, most importantly._

_And, well._

_Ben Parker loved his wife._

_He’d jumped the gun._

* * *

Tony walks up with a grim expression. The halls are dimly lit by the morning sun, and he and Ned walk quickly, eyes searching for a familiar name amongst the tagged doors.

“Tony,” Ned says, nodding to a door ahead.

 _May Parker_ , the tag by the door reads.

The attending doctor’s name is blank, and Tony nods approvingly.

“Tell Happy to send two more up,” he says, adjusting his cuffs. “Wait for them, then come in.”

Ned nods, taking out his phone.

Tony takes a breath, then opens the door. “Down the rabbit hole we go.”

* * *

Monitors beep low and steady, and IV drops hang around her bed.

The curtain is drawn enough to avoid a full view, but stops where she can see whoever decides to visit.

There are bandages in random spots on her body: by her neck, by her hairline, by her elbow. They’re small, nowhere near the size required to cover a bullet hole.

Tony feels his lungs start up again.

May hears his exhale, and opens her eyes slowly.

They’re red-veined and tinted grey-green on the whites.

“Hello, May,” Tony says, now by her bedside.

“Forgo...the greeting...Tony,” she rasps. “It may...be...contagious.”

“Then the shooters would’ve caught it as well. And your doctors. And your nurses.”

May rolls her eyes.

Tony wants to laugh.

(He doesn’t.)

“Do you remember anything?”

“My father...is dead,” May says, clearing her throat. “He was the first.”

“That’s right,” Tony says gently. “You are the Donna.”

She closes her eyes, her brows furrowing at some unseen pain. Her jaw clenches, and Tony’s shoulders sag.

Renatis weren’t known for trouble.

They brought safety.

They brought joy.

And here lies their latest queen, hurt by a malicious newbie with no regard for the system. _Their_ system.

The one their fathers and grandfathers built together all those years ago.

The one the Parker boys had only helped to grow in the generation previous.

(Tony remembers learning to flip a coin between his fingers, watching Ben and Richard do it flawlessly, as if _wired_ that way.

He thinks of coins and a different time.

A single coin, between his forefinger and middle, the metal teetering on the edge, waiting to be caught on the next digit.)

May whispers, “Where’s my Ben?”

(The coin drops.)

“They sent us a fish,” Tony says carefully.

“They’re _Irish_. They don’t have the blood right to send us a Sicilian message,” May frowns, but exhaustion keeps her rage from sticking. “And Peter?”

“Flying over.”

A knock on the door. Ned enters, tipping his hat at May. “Condolences, _Tita_.”

She smiles at the only hat-wearing member of the Stark family—Tony’s charge, given with full trust by a family about to lose its life. “Don’t get into trouble, Ned.”

He smiles softly. “Me? _Nah_.”

May’s eyes flick to Tony. “Let him pick up my boy,” she rasps.

“He will, with MJ, in the afternoon,” Tony says, and May visibly relaxes. “But first, we’re bringing you home.”

“The doctors know?”

“Of course. Left the nameplate blank like I’d asked. Helen and Bruce will have better insights on whatever… _poison_ this is, hopefully.”

“How do you plan on getting me to ground level without halting all elevator activity?” May chuckles, blinking slowly.

Tony pulls out a pulsing, octagon-shaped object from his suit jacket, grinning. “Oh, you’ll _love_ this.”

* * *

It’s quick work to move her to the compound upstate, the new hovering device working wonders to keep her bed steady through the stairwells. Ned helps with the escort, then bids her goodbye with the love of a son, off to prepare the escort.

Helen and Bruce had their little clinic readied since the news of the hit had passed around the compound in the morning, and they greet May with the same deep reverence they’d once shown her father.

“They’re like those fizzy tablets—those things that disintegrate in water? But here it’s with blood,” Helen says after assessing the Donna’s frothing wounds. “Fortunately, these are the only three that hit true. _Un_ fortunately, we can only give her antibiotics and hope for the best.”

“For now?” Tony asks.

Helen nods.

“I’m already running tests,” Bruce says, “but the results will take a while.”

“Timeframe, Hulk,” Tony says.

Bruce glances at Helen. “A few more hours, tops.”

“The good news is she’s responding well to treatment already,” Helen adds, checking a clipboard. “It’s more a cocktail of different illnesses, less a manufactured one. Though oddly enough, there’s no evidence of it being contagious.”

“It’s a prototype, then,” Pepper says, entering the room. She smiles and nods at her friend. “Welcome home, Donna.”

“Pepper,” May smiles. “When I said we should meet for lunch, this isn’t what I had in mind.”

Pepper frowns, somber. “My condolences, May.”

“Thank you, Donna.”

“I’m not quite there yet.”

“Is that a request for me gone?” Tony asks, smiling mischievously. “Pep, you want me hit?”

“In some ways, hon,” Pepper laughs.

(Helen and Bruce grin, hiding their silent laughter behind open hands.) 

“Well, if someone were to take me out, at least it’s family,” Tony says, straightening his jacket.

“I would never,” May says. “Though sometimes, you make it appealing.”

“I make many things appealing, May.”

“Debatable.”

“Hurt, in my own home.”

“ _Mio fratello_ , with all due respect, my great-grandparents bought this land. It's mine as much as yours.”

“ _Correct_ ,” Tony grins, clasping his hands together. “Now, I think it’s time to talk business. You are the last full-blooded Renati.”

“Karen,” May says, brows furrowed. “Karen is, too.”

“Karen’s clean.”

“Karen’s _coming_ ,” Pepper says.

Their attention snaps to her.

“Here?” May asks, surprised.

Pepper nods. “She’s not happy.”

May’s pulse spikes. “But her discharge—”

“Honorable, right?” Tony finishes. “Why would she waste that?”

“Her favorite cousin is ill, and her parents and relatives have been killed,” Pepper says smoothly. “It’s her business as much as yours, May.”

The elder woman closes her eyes, lying back down. Bruce bows, excusing himself, and Helen watches the monitors carefully.

The beat steadies.

“I want them gone, Tony,” May breathes, finally. “And I want them gone _slowly_ , like how they took my father.”

_And how they took my Ben._

Tony nods, hands now clasped behind his back. “As you say.”

“Peter shouldn’t be in this,” she adds, eyes glassy. “He’s a good kid. I can’t stop Karen, but _him…_ ”

“He hasn’t said anything,” Pepper replies quietly. “And we’re not looking to force him into the life, not when _we’re_ about to leave.”

“One last job, hmm?” Tony smirks, holding his old friend’s hand. “Once more for _la famiglia?_ ”

“Let the old blood show the new,” May says, closing her eyes. “We do not sleep.”

“...You’re about to.”

“Almost died, Tony.”

“I would assume that would make sleeping a bad decision,” he says, tilting his head.

May opens an eye, unamused. “It wasn’t a real gunshot.”

“Viruses can be worse.”

“ _Pepper_.” _Help me._

“Come, Tony,” Pepper says, patting his shoulder. “Let’s let her rest.”

May hums a thank you.

The couple walks to the door, nodding at Helen to continue her work.

“Where’s MJ?” May calls weakly from the bed, a second before they step out.

“Gathering materials,” Tony turns, hands in his pockets.

“She’ll be leaving with Ned to pick up Peter at the airport in...now,” Pepper adds, a hand on Tony’s arm, the other raised to check her watch.

May nods stiffly. “I want to see her afterward.”

“She’s going to the pier, Donna Renati,” Tony says.

Her brows furrow, anguish overtaking her features. “Don’t send her there, Tony.”

“She’s done that work before, May.”

“She knew Ben,” she says, voice fading. “She shouldn’t be there. Not when the Greenies are around the corner.”

“Viz and Friday will be with her,” Pepper offers. “And the Captain has been notified. It’s still Liberty territory.”

“A military man and a spy,” May half-smiles, exhausted. Her eyes droop, and she inhales as the monitors around her _beep_ steadily. “...No. She has more ties to my family than yours. Let her come see me.”

Tony purses his lips. “ _The living first, then the dead_ ,” he recites, nodding. “You always were better with traditions.”

“I’m trying to spare her the grief of seeing what I lived through,” May rasps, eyes once again closed. “For a time, at least.”

“As you say, Donna,” Pepper nods solemnly. “I’ll pass the message.”

May nods. “As you say.”

* * *

Peter Benjamin Parker arrives at JFK in the middle of the afternoon, dressed down to a simple blazer, collared shirt, and jeans.

He looks normal to most, but the illusion is shattered by the arrival of several black SUVs in the parking lot, strategically surrounding him in a spiral of metal as he walks over with his two suitcases.

Ned steps out of the one nearest the center, his hat teetering as he quickly envelopes his friend in a bear hug. “Bro!”

“Hey, Ned,” Peter smiles, exhausted. They exchange _il bacio_ the Stark way—three, the third actually planted.

“Whatever you want to do,” Ned says, lowering his voice. “You just say the word, man.”

“Thanks, Ned,” Peter says, something catching in his throat. “That means a lot, really.”

“You can cry, it’s a normal reaction,” MJ says, adjusting her pencil skirt as she steps out of the same vehicle. “Tony does it. Healthy practice.”

(Peter finds he has missed her more than originally thought, and doesn’t bother fighting the stupid grin currently stuck on his face.)

She smirks, opening her arms.

“You got dressed up for me?” he teases, accepting her offered hug.

(His stomach does flips as they kiss each other’s cheeks—a reminder of past days and missed chances.

He would like to not miss as many chances this time around.)

“‘Course not,” MJ says, fixing his collar after pulling away. “I had to deal with the press this morning—didn’t bother changing.”

Peter grins, hands lingering on the air by her elbows. “I know. I saw the news at the airport.”

“Fancy that—a Parker watching _non_ -fiction,” she says, pulling away to nudge Ned. “The world must be ending.”

“College has _changed_ you,” Ned gasps, grabbing Peter by the biceps. “...Ah. But still with the wimp arms.”

“ _Dude_ ,” Peter hisses.

“You still good for aiming, Pete?” MJ asks blankly, brow raised.

Her hands are behind her back.

“Is that a present for me?” Peter asks, stepping forward.

“Only if someone makes the mistake of ambushing us on the way to the compound.”

“I was on the range every other day.”

“It’ll be in arm’s reach,” MJ says evenly, “on Ned’s side.”

“You’re not riding with us?” Peter asks quirking a brow.

“I’m going to visit the site,” she blanks, putting the handheld blaster cannon into the car she’d stepped out of.

Peter surges forward, taking her hands in his. “MJ, you can’t—”

Her eyes are steel. “You and Ned are going home. The Donna is waiting.”

“It’s not _safe_ there—”

“I’ll be with the Jarvises and some Liberties, Peter. This isn’t my first site-check.”

“They killed my uncle,” he begs, whispering. He squeezes her hands, hoping to convey the message. “ _Please_.”

MJ’s heart breaks with the crack in his voice, but: “Pepper sent _me_ , I can’t back ou—”

“You can,” Ned says from behind Peter, shoving something back into his suit jacket. “Just got a text. May wants to see you. Tony’s sending the twins instead.”

 _Blink._ “Wish hard enough and it shall come true,” MJ jokes, trying to ease the tension. Her heart beats erratically, from proximity and from stress.

Peter doesn’t let go of her hands, but lowers them so he can look _anywhere_ but at her face. “I’ve had some wishes,” he whispers, voice hoarse.

Ned comes up, rallying him by the shoulders. “Come on. In the car.”

MJ tugs Peter, entering the car backward and pulling him in. Ned shuts the door behind them, tapping the driver’s seat to _go_.

“You don’t need to pull the trigger,” MJ whispers, freeing one hand to rub Peter’s back.

“You can still be a civilian,” Ned whispers, showing Peter his wristwatch. “I can handle anything you need done.”

MJ nods. “And we have the Liberties. They’ll gladly take anyone out for you.”

“It’s different,” Peter says hoarsely. “It’s _different_. _I’m_ different.”

“You think we’re not blood with the Starks?” MJ challenges. “You think Tony will throw us on the street like cheap change?”

“No, of course not,” Peter frowns, fingers tapping. “But that was _my_ uncle they came after. _My_ aunt.”

“My _first ties_ are with the Renatis,” Ned throws back. “So are MJ’s.”

“Karen Renati is returning home,” MJ adds, voice strong. _Weighty_. “This won’t be taken lightly.”

“I’m the last Parker in the Renatis _and_ the Starks,” Peter says with a low voice. “They think I’m a civilian. It makes sense.”

“You’re throwing your life away,” MJ huffs, crossing her arms. “You’re _clean_.”

A beat.

Two.

“...I almost bought that,” Peter says, a grin creeping up.

“You’re going to deal with May,” MJ shrugs, smirking. “There will be questions.”

“She didn’t want you to suit up before,” Ned says, loosening his tie. “And now? That’s going to be worse.”

“But what do you guys think?”

MJ glances at Ned.

Ned grins, slinging an arm around Peter’s shoulders. “ _We_ think,” he starts, looking back at MJ, “the Greenies are going to _regret_ ever showing their _dumb_ , goblin mugs in Forest Hills.”

* * *

MJ excuses herself when they enter the compound, on the premise of changing into comfier clothing.

(“This getup’s getting stifling,” she’d complained, popping her collar button. “Too bad the press would’ve tacked me on as another hitman if I wore a suit. Pepper and I just got new ones, too.”

“You notice this _seven hours_ later?” Ned had said, to be replied to with a light shove as she’d _tripped, sorry, didn’t see that rock there._ )

Ned smirks, rubbing his side as he watches Peter pointedly looks straight at the main house instead of following MJ’s retreating form from around a corner. “I see we’re picking up right where we left off.”

“That obvious?” Peter asks, shaking off his blazer.

“Been three years.”

“I hear she had someone. Recently.”

_From Friday, because she wouldn't tell me herself._

Ned opens the door, navigating to the back area. “In her defense, it was the Vulture’s runt driver. And it was barely a week.”

Peter quirks a brow. “A job?”

“ _Clean_ ,” Ned corrects, but there’s a glint in his eye. “Everything MJ does is clean.”

“So...no interest?”

“C’mon, Peter—she’s still holding out for the same boy who told her tasing was the only acceptable form of first contact between a catcaller and their victim.”

Peter raises a brow, but a small smile creeps into his features anyway. “We’re not in high school anymore, Ned.”

“But you visit us every holiday, and you call. I hear you even write, but she won’t show me.”

Peter’s face warms. “And you?”

“Betty Brant is an _excellent_ journalist,” Ned says simply.

“Guess we got beat,” Peter laughs.

 _Snort_. “If anyone can wait forever, it’s you two.”

They round a corner and exit the back of the building.

The day is too nice to bring such bad news.

“The tulips are in bloom,” Peter says, distracting himself from the darkness in his mind. The walkway is covered, keeping them in the shade as they walk past the back garden to the medical offices.

“If you’re hoping for roses, you’re on your own,” Ned says, walking ahead.

“Sunflowers,” Peter grins, catching up. “You know she likes sunflowers.”

“Point for you, buddy—I’m seeing if you kept track.”

“I can’t forget.”

Ned whistles. “Smooth.”

“She’d ask if there were any,” Peter says casually, trying to keep his breathing even.

(He remembers the garden. He remembers Ben teaching him to remove weeds as a lesson in patience.

He remembers May bringing him on weekends and _only_ weekends—keeping him in a room with the other children, babysat by Viz, then Friday when she’d grown older.

He remembers sneaking back outside with MJ and Ned, playing around the plants while their parents attended meetings with the great Dons of New York.)

“Whenever I traveled, I mean,” Peter continues, clearing his throat. He doesn’t want to remember right now. “Every competition.”

“She likes to keep tabs on ‘em,” Ned nods. "Like to know where they're blooming. Available."

“It’s her happy place.”

“And another point.”

“Has Betty visited?”

“She’s in London,” Ned says, smiling. “Work-study.”

“Does she know what you do?”

“She’s there because she wanted in. Rhodey got some strings pulled, made sure she got the best of the best. When she gets back, she’ll be our insider at the Bugle.”

Peter sighs as they near the medical building. The sleek facade of the two-story building, usually welcoming, now makes his stomach churn.

“I don’t feel so good,” he says weakly.

Ned catches his crumpling form, guiding him to the bushes. “Let it out, dude—you’re about to ask your aunt for permission to go on a suicide mission.”

Peter does, indeed, let it out.

Ned hands him a travel-sized bottle of mouthwash.

“Weird how you have everything,” Peter says weakly after rinsing his mouth.

“My parents left me with two things: recipes and hygiene preparedness,” Ned says, patting his back.

“And a hat from the 20s.”

“ _Hey,_ ” Ned frowns. “Don’t diss the Stetson.”

Peter stands, shaking off the nerves. “You’re the _only one_ who wears a hat that screams _mobster_ in the 21st century.”

“Liz always liked my hats,” Ned mumbles, heading for the door.

Peter chuckles. “She let me take her to homecoming—I think she’s capable of bad life choices.”

“Okay, okay—c’mon,” Ned says, waving him through. “The Donna waits.”

* * *

Peter was never the most prepared when it came to The Life, or talking about it.

May senses his nervous energy the second he steps into the room, and the fighting will accompanying it as he kisses her cheeks and forehead.

“Out of the question,” she says as he holds her hand, Ned behind him.

Tony sits in a corner, flanked by Viz and Rhodey. Watching.

Peter frowns. “But May—”

“Why would you want to be like us, sweetheart?” May frowns with wounded eyes. “Why would you want this for yourself?”

“You taught me family first. This is me putting my family first.”

“My boy,” she says, reaching for his face. “Ben would’ve wanted you to be _safe_.”

“I will be safe, May,” he whispers urgently. “No one expects the skinny engineering kid.”

Tony stands. “You’re waging a lot of this on luck, kid.”

Peter grins at him. “Your tactics, Don Stark—always a gamble.”

“Oh, and I’d hoped you’d use better.”

May squeezes Peter’s hand, calling his attention. “You’d be doing this under the Starks—you’d be a name in the system,” she begs.

“Uncle Ben would be _here_ if I was _there_ ,” Peter protests, eyes frighteningly familiar.

Eyes like Ben.

May closes her eyes. “What would you have done?”

“I’m the best shot here, May.”

“You Parkers and your guns,” Tony _tuts_ , shaking his head. “No showmanship. No _style_.”

“The Liberty Legion runs on guns,” Peter frowns.

Tony shrugs. “The Liberties are artists with crude equipment—you can quote me on that. Nat usually does.”

May presses her lips together, considering.

A known fact: May Parker was always reasonable. Level-headed.

But she always had exceptions.

“I have you two here,” she starts, voice even, though weak. “I opt to wait for your third before making my decision.”

“As you say,” Peter says, swallowing.

Ned bows his head. “As you say.”

Tony crosses his arms, smirking. “As you say—but really, the dramatics today? Top notch, May.”

She opens an eye briefly, but shakes her head in lieu of responding.

Tony laughs. “ _La famiglia!_ Together again!”

* * *

MJ enters in a crisp three-piece suit, in her usual slightly-loose fit.

Tony claps her shoulder when she enters, a hand gesturing to the bed.

She walks forward, finding a spot beside her boys by May’s feet.

“Ah, there she is,” May smiles, a hand outstretched.

“Donna,” MJ says with a solemn nod.

“My dear, you—and Peter, Ned—you three are the future of our families.”

“Friday may take offense to that,” Tony jokes.

“Oh, she doesn’t care,” Viz says lightly. “She thinks getting adopted by my father was the best thing to happen because it’s all play with no possibility of running the show.”

“Viz, are you feeling underappreciated?” Tony asks, quirking a brow. “Because your father was very important to me. So are you. So is your sister.”

“ _A Jarvis is an example of true loyalty_ ,” May recites, a smile on her face. “ _Never underestimate their penchant for sassing the competition to their graves_.”

“Too many feelings today,” Viz says, jaw clenching slightly as he fights a smile. “I have a reputation.”

“Don’t be such a robot, Viz,” Rhodey grins. “Take the compliment.”

Viz nods. “With many thanks, Don—Donna.”

“Sorry,” Tony smiles, nodding at May. "Continue."

“Leave us,” May laughs, nodding back. “Your heckling has no off switch.”

“That’s fair,” Tony grins, clapping the twenty-one-year-olds once on the shoulder each.

Except for Peter—he claps twice, saying, “You’re doing good, kid. Don’t forget it.”

Rhodey, Viz, and Helen all follow, the last quickly assessing her patient before leaving the room.

The door shuts with a soft _click_ , and they hear Rhodey and Viz exchange places with the twins to guard the door.

Silence, as the trio wait with bated breath.

Silence, as Peter prepares to defend himself once more.

Silence, then:

“Peter thinks he should be the lynchpin,” May says. She directs her gaze to Ned and MJ. “And you two?”

“I go where Pete goes, May,” Ned says, back straight.

“It’s a solid premise, if we can get a solid plan,” MJ says, casually leaning on the bed.

May’s gaze flick back to her nephew, eyes like fire. “If you three can come up with something by the end of the day on which I am released, I...will let you be groomed. If not, you stay to grieve, and you go back to school. _Capisci?_ ”

Peter nods, her hand still clasped in his. “Yes, May.”

“Now,” she says shakily, closing her eyes as tears start to fall. “Please—a hug would feel _great_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes i obv meant the stetson fedoras not like, the cowboy ones


	3. chapter 2: down and time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey okay before we get this party started, a reminder for yall: please don't keep asking me to update because it's p rude and also stresses me out so less chances of me updating, even if i was planning to

### chapter 2: down and time

They get shooed out by Tony an hour later, at the request of Helen and Bruce.

(“You can come back later, kid,” Tony had said.

“ _Tomorrow_ , Don Stark,” Helen had said. “The Donna needs rest, and Bruce and I need to figure out how, exactly, to combat any future versions of this... _thing_.”

"You heard the good doctor," Tony had said, then, shrugging. "Tomorrow.")

Ned leaves MJ and Peter by the garden, running off to prepare Peter’s living accommodations.

It just.

Well.

It just also happens to be a golden time to play matchmaker.

Again.

Like every _other_ time Peter’s been home.

“How are your parents?” Peter asks, rolling up his sleeves.

(They’re sitting on Ben’s favorite bench, between two flowerbeds and facing a small pond.

They both remember the jolly fellow, broad-shouldered and strong-backed, carrying them around in turns when they were youngsters.

Their hearts _ache_.)

MJ leans back on the bench beside him, taking a _deep_ breath. “Still in statis. Helen hasn’t figured out how to take them out safely.”

A thin cloud of smoke catches Peter’s eye—presumably from one of the drivers in the compound sneaking out back during break. “Did you start smoking?”

 _Snort._ “What, so I can join them?”

“The others do it for stress relief.”

“That’s a vice. I have an _addict’s_ blood. I’d be burning through four packs a day by the end of the week.”

“You wouldn’t like that.”

She shakes her head.

He clears his throat. “I—I wouldn’t like that, um, either.”

She nods, slowly, pursing her lips.

“The dependency, I mean. Your life, and all that. _Um_.”

“I understand, Peter.”

 _Of course you do_ , he wants to say. _You always do_.

It comes out as: “Thanks.”

A breath. “No prob.”

Peter’s gaze returns to the medical building.

“Don’t shut down on us,” MJ says immediately, looking at the tulips he’d passed earlier.

“What—what do you mean?” he asks, blinking.

Her jaw clenches. “Don’t be like me.”

“MJ—”

“I’m _serious_ , Peter,” she says in a half-whisper, turning to face him. “Don’t shut us out. Don’t try to do this alone.”

“I’m—” he says, pausing to look her in the eye. “I won’t. I promise.”

“It’s a jerk move.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

Peter blinks.

“For what I did,” MJ explains, eyes back to the tulips.

The breeze that passes catches his hair and hers, tossing curls for a brief moment.

“MJ…” he says, reaching to tuck a strand of hers back.

She twitches, curling her shoulders inward. “I shouldn’t have—it was _wrong_ —”

His fingers reach the strand, stray and still swaying.

She stills.

“Your parents got hurt,” he says, tucking it away. “You were mad. You didn’t know how to talk about it. I get it. _Ned_ gets it. We’re still your friends, right? Even when you tried to keep us out?”

“I still apologize. Six years late, but...”

“Then…I accept,” he smiles, pulling his hand away. “And I promise to talk to you guys.”

“You won’t,” she deadpans. “Not for lack of trying. You just won’t.” She turns back to him, chewing the inside of her cheek.

Peter stares at her, waiting.

“...When that happens, don’t talk. Just... _let_ it. Feel it. We’ll be there,” she says, bumping shoulders with him. “Like always.”

He smiles. “As you say.”

“Cut the family talk, Pete, we’re not in a meeting.”

“It’s old vocab by now.”

“You knew other vocab words in AcaDec.”

“I had a good teacher.”

“Liz?” MJ jokes.

Peter bumps her shoulder. “Funny.”

“I am.”

They sit in silence, waiting for the sun to begins its descent.

Peter runs a hand over the old wood and iron, letting himself remember being there.

Being with his parents, once, when he was little.

Being with Ben, when they were gone.

And now.

Now…

Wishing his uncle would step out of the back doors of the Stark mansion. Come running to him.

Come tell him he’s missed him.

Congratulate him on his competition.

Remind him May wants him to help with dinner.

Remind him to be polite. To be kind.

To take care of his own.

“Peter,” MJ breathes, both hands on his face.

(He doesn’t remember her moving.

But then, he doesn’t remember crying either.)

Her thumbs wipe off the tears as they fall, one.

By.

One.

She kisses his forehead. “It’s okay.”

“Ben,” Peter chokes out, unable to breathe.

“I know,” she says shakily, hugging him. “See? What I say?” she tries to joke, but it’s strained. “You won’t talk about it.”

He’s limp in her arms. “ _Ben_.”

She rubs his back. “It’s okay, Peter. I’m here. Just cry, buddy. It’s okay.”

(He sobs and wails and finally holds her in a matching grip, seeing nothing but his uncle’s smile and the tulips he’d planted for May all those years ago.)

* * *

Ned finds them in the garden where he’d left them, mourning and still clinging to each other.

He joins them.

The sun descends.

* * *

“Come,” Pietro says gently when he and Wanda find them huddled in the coming minutes. “You’ll catch cold.”

(They won’t.

It’s too warm.

But.)

“MJ, Pepper wants to see you,” Wanda says just as gently, carefully extracting the youngsters from each other. “The papers and photos are inside.”

“Okay,” she rasps, rubbing her forearm over her eyes. “I’ll go—I’ll see you guys later,” she says to Peter and Ned, standing.

Wanda puts one hand on her shoulder, the other on her cheek. “Take a breath.”

MJ does so.

Wanda straightens out MJ’s suit, and fixes her hair. “She won’t mind, but the attempt at concealing it will be commended,” Wanda tells her.

“Thanks,” MJ says, wiping at her eyes again. She tries to laugh. “ _Oof_. Feelings. Tough stuff.”

Wanda turns to the boys, smiling sadly. “We won’t forget this. Your word, and we go.”

“Thank you,” Peter rasps.

“Come,” Pietro says again, an arm on their shoulders. “You need to rest. It’s been a long day.”

“I’ll take MJ,” Wanda says, arm looped with the _consigliere-_ in-training. “Let’s go, kid.”

MJ nods silently.

Her eyes are still glazed, hazy. She takes another deep breath as they disappear into the mansion, away from view.

“Boys,” Pietro says gently. “Your feet. We must go.”

Peter pries himself from his spot, stepping forward toward the mansion.

Away from his aunt.

He almost turns back to the medical building, but Pietro nudges him. “It’s okay, Peter. They will send us word. My sister and I will be exchanging watches with Viz and Rhodey when dinner starts. I can keep you up-to-date.”

Ned speaks for his friend: “Thanks, Pietro.”

“I’m happy to help,” Pietro replies, adjusting his own bowtie. “Job or not.”

“Thank you,” Peter rasps again, clapping Ned on the shoulder. “I’m...I’m ready to go.”

* * *

Pietro takes them upstairs to the second floor, where the rooms are located. Wanda passes them in the staircase, no MJ in sight.

“She okay?” Ned asks in passing.

“Strong enough,” Wanda says, a sad smile on her face. (Melancholy: the twins’ specialty.)

“Ben loved her,” Peter says quietly, a million miles away. “Thought she’d be a good influence on me and Ned.”

“He was right,” Wanda confirms, patting him on the shoulder. “And the three of you—if you need a shoulder, Pietro and I understand. Beyond words.”

“Thanks,” Ned says, sniffling.

Peter hugs him. “He loved you, too.”

“I know,” Ned croaks.

(A six-year-old building and dismantling _Lego_ machines and creating castles and spaceships from blocks he could’ve easily eaten instead of played with.

A man a little over thirty watching him with bated breath, hanging on to see his next invention. He is entranced, and he is encouraging.)

Ned closes his eyes. “I know.”

* * *

They keep walking.

* * *

Pietro drops them off with a silent nod and a promise shared through clasped arms. Peter and Ned watch him leave, meeting his sister by the staircase, and disappear from view.

“Same room?” Peter asks, walking in to familiar blue.

Ned taps the top bunk. “Same beds.”

“We didn’t really talk earlier.”

“Other than about my dear sister.”

“Is that official? It’s been two years, right? You never told me.”

“Mine’s been,” Ned shrugs. “MJ’s still on the fence.”

“Surprised May hasn’t—” Peter turns, feeling Ned’s eyes on him. “...What?”

Ned squints at him. “May doesn’t want her to be your sister. That would be weird.”

Peter _gulps_. “...Oh. Right.”

“That would be like Friday liking Vi—”

“ _Okay,_ image received, Ned.”

“Heh,” Ned chortles, moving a pile of gadgetry on the desk. “You can dump your stuff here, or anywhere. I gotta clean up, sorry.”

“Lots more tech than last time,” Peter whistles.

 _Shrug_. “I’ve been busy.”

“That new blaster MJ gave me—yours?”

“Heat-seeking,” Ned grins, nodding. “You can set it to stun, too.”

“Anything like your glove?” Peter asks, pulling the revolver-sized blaster out of his bag.

“What, shrinkable?”

“Yeah.”

“Not yet,” Ned says, asking for the weapon.

Peter passes it.

Ned sits cross-legged on the floor, carefully placing the blaster by his side. He tugs a thick metal case out from under the desk, and presses a button. It folds out into a toolbox, blue-lit holograms serving as controls for small, robotic arms. Ned places the blaster on a middle platform, toggling something with the controls.

“Gift from Tony?” Peter asks, kneeling by him. He watches Ned open the blaster, taking out a miniature motherboard.

“Yeah,” Ned says, plopping the motherboard onto a smaller, raised platform. “For passing my licensing exam.”

Peter _hums_. “Maybe I should’ve stayed.”

“In New York?”

“You and MJ got private schooling. Advanced degrees.”

Ned looks at Peter, reading his face.

His sagging posture.

His _eyes_.

“They missed you,” Ned says quietly. “Ben missed you a lot.”

“He had you guys,” Peter says, leaning on the desk.

“We’re not his kids.”

 _Wince_. “I didn’t mean it like that,” Peter says apologetically. “I meant like, I’m happy you were there. To keep him company.”

Ned offers the start of their secret handshake.

Peter grins, obliging.

“You wanna help me figure this out?” Ned asks, jutting a thumb at the motherboard. “Tony won’t let me use the nanotech until I finalize this thing.”

Peter blinks. “...You gave me a prototype?”

“It works fine!”

“A blaster, Ned. A prototype _blaster._ ”

“I’m good for it!”

“Even _Tony_ doesn’t use prototype blasters.”

Ned frowns. “I can take it back, y’know.”

“...I’ll…take the prototype…” Peter pouts, scooting closer. “So. What do we need to fix?”

* * *

They manage not to explode the entire mansion, but they _do_ accidentally send a ricocheting blast around the room for a solid minute.

(Peters just thankful that Ned restocked the burn medicine in the first aid kits under the bunk beds.)

They high-five at the end of it, the heat-seeking kinks worked out completely.

...Or until further notice.

#Science.

* * *

MJ meets them for dinner with the rest of the family, the lot of them packed into the long dining hall made to look like an upscale restaurant.

The three of them nudge each other as a greeting, because none of them will bother lying if asked, _Are you okay?_

Peter hasn’t seen most of the family in over a year, considering the holidays were busy times for gambling kingpins, and most of them were out doing...semi-legal activities.

(He’s truthfully...not hungry.

But he needs strength, and he’d already powered through the day with only a measly energy bar for breakfast and that questionable hot dog on the plane, so.)

Scott’s the first to pat him on the shoulder, and it starts a chain reaction of _Sorry, Peter_ ’s and _I know a guy_ ’s and _Say the word_ ’s.

“Is everyone here?” Peter whispers when they’ve seated themselves at a back table.

“Most,” MJ whispers back from beside him, motioning to the half-filled tables opposite them. “Pepper sent Friday and Peggy out earlier to pick up the Liberties.”

“If it’s too many people, we can tell Tony,” Ned says from MJ’s other side, before chomping on a roll of bread.

“No, it’s okay,” Peter says, relaxing into his seat. “Feels nice.”

MJ quirks a brow, the smallest of smiles on her lips. “You miss the noise?”

“Fall was always the best time to hang out here,” he grins, finger tapping his spoon handle. “Lots of stories.”

“Lots of _work_ ,” Ned says, roll downed.

“You like work,” MJ snorts, twirling pasta.

“Use your spoon,” Tony quips from behind her. He walks to the opposite end of their table and sits down.

“No,” she throws back without looking up.

“Stubborn,” he replies, clasping his hands together. He turns to Peter. “Welcome home again, kid.”

“Thanks, Tony,” Peter smiles. “Thanks for taking care of May.”

“ _Mia sorella_ is very dear to me.”

“I’m really happy you grew out of hitting on her.”

“She told you about that?” Tony faux-gasps.

(Or really does.

It’s Tony, it’s kind of a toss-up.)

“Ben did,” Peter grins.

“Yeah, he didn’t like me doing that,” Tony says, smiling at the floor. “Annoyed the hell outta me when I found out it was partly because he liked her, but, y’know. _C’est la vie_.”

Peter shakes his head, smiling. He blinks, looking around for red hair. “Where’s Pepper?”

“Good to know you still ask too many questions, kid.”

Peter frowns.

Ned tilts his head. “She’s skipping dinner?”

“She’ll be here soon,” Tony chuckles. “I’m just messing with Peter. She’s calling the Captain about...details.”

MJ sips her water. “Thought we don’t talk shop at meals, Tones?”

“Wasn’t shop. Was personal,” Tony replies easily, leaning back on his chair. “But sure, I’m always up for a subject change. How’s this—” he gestures to her and Peter, “—little love story working out?”

“That’s—um, that’s—” Peter stammers, blushing and furrowing his brows. The shrimp on his fork falls back onto the plate.

MJ sips her water again, but there’s a _significant_ increase of blood flow to her face.

Tony smirks, turning to Ned. “See, Leeds? I’ve still got some tricks you kids have yet to learn.”

“You’re gonna regret that when she _does_ ,” Ned chuckles, nodding at MJ and dipping another piece of bread into his pasta sauce. “She’ go’ bla’mai’ o’ Clin’ ‘nce.”

“I look forward to passing the reins,” Tony grins, tapping the table as he stands. “Go back for seconds—you’re all growing.”

“We’re 21, Tony,” MJ says, slightly recovered.

He waves a hand, already walking away. “Mentally, MJ. Growing _mentally._ Brain food, yadda-yadda. Oh, hey, Hap—did you get my text? Right, the red one...”

“He’s still insane,” Ned comments, _clinking_ his utensils together. “Cool, but insane.”

“Remember when I made a fake mustache so I could be him for Halloween?” Peter laughs, ducking his head.

“I’ve still got pictures somewhere,” MJ blanks.

“Of course _you_ would,” Ned snickers.

MJ elbows him.

Peter’s ears turn pink.

Eh, pink _er_.

Ned _groans._ “I mean, of course you would keep such a good, _special_ memor— _OW_ —not special, just _funny_ , memory, yeah,” Ned chokes out, rubbing his side. He glares at MJ. “Yousuck,whyarewefriends.”

“I’m your greatest confidante, and I know what Betty likes,” MJ smirks.

“... _Tch_ , you right.”

Peter frowns. “ _Hey_ , what about _me?_ ”

“You break when someone brings up anything mildly uncomfortable, dude.”

“I do _not_.”

“You just did, with Tony.”

MJ snorts.

“You think I didn’t notice _you_ , Ms. Apples & Tomatoes?” Ned squints.

MJ clears her throat, looking him in the eye. “One: it’s physically impossible for me to reach those levels of red. Two: I didn’t break.”

“Not _fully_.”

“Didn’t stammer.”

“Point.”

“ _Unbelievable_ ,” Peter breathes, letting his head fall into his hands.

MJ snickers, leaning back in her chair. “Remember: it’s too late to break in new friends.”

“Yeah,” Ned laughs, “we’re May-trained and everything!”

* * *

At the end of the meal, when most of the family had already stepped out, the Liberties arrive.

“Where’s the kid?” Clint booms into the hall, striding around with Kate behind him, holding onto his shoulders like a child in a human train.

“Clint, inside voice,” Pepper says from the other end of the hall, rubbing her temples.

“Inside voices are for losers,” Bucky says, rolling up the sleeve on his metal arm.

“Hey, guys,” Peter says, mostly food coma’d.

(He shared desserts with Tony, by the Don’s advice of _As someone who has lost many people who mattered more than I’ll ever admit: eat your feelings the first couple days. It’s easier than wallowing. Trust me_.)

“Did you get _spiked?_ ” Bucky frowns, looking around the room.

“He’s crashing from all the sugar he just downed,” MJ explains, shaking her head. “Idiot.”

“It was an order,” Peter pouts.

“Okay.”

“It waaaas.”

“He’s gonna need to sleep soon,” MJ blanks, turning to Ned. “All yours.”

“ _This_ is why I said we should get here _before_ dinner,” Nat huffs, placing a metal case on the floor and shaking off her leather jacket.

“On record: I voted to go early to eat,” Kate says, raising a hand. She waves at MJ and Ned. “Wassup?”

They shrug.

“Oh. Right. My bad.”

They shrug again.

“...Why are you like this,” she frowns, choo-choo-ing Clint to their table. “C’mon, hop aboard the fun train!”

“That’s just grumpy Hawkeye,” MJ deadpans.

“Old Hawkeye,” Ned adds.

“I’ma need a nap,” Peter frowns, eyes drooping.

“Not before I see what you’re packing,” Bucky says, striding over.

“A handheld,” Tony says, handing Peter a cup of tea. “Drink that. Good for blood sugar.”

“A _handheld?_ ” Bucky balks. “For a potential _target?_ ”

“It’s got heat seeking?” Ned offers.

“I fully support your engineering feats, Leeds, but a handheld isn’t gonna cut it with those Greenies on the streets,” Bucky says, motioning Nat forward.

“A present,” Nat says, placing the metal case on the table in front of Peter. She pops it open, revealing a medium-sized rifle. “Perfect for killing some ugly-ass city goblins.”

“And the pop sounds are just— _mwah_ ,” Clint says, channeling his inner chef.

“You’re deaf,” Kate balks. “You take your hearing aids out _every time_ they pull those things out.”

“Don’t ruin the moment, Kate.”

“You see what I gotta deal with?” she asks the trio.

“Dude,” MJ blanks, “we have _Tony_.”

 _Blink._ “Ah. You got me there.”

“He won’t be taking that,” Tony says, closing the case slowly.

“What?” Nat asks.

“Why?” Bucky frowns.

“May doesn’t want me in,” Peter yawns.

MJ shoves his tea closer to him.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, lowering his head onto the table and sipping lazily.

She pats his head, staring the Liberties down.

 _Comment and die_ , her eyes say.

 _Continue, I’m listening_ , the rest of her face says.

Nat pulls the case off the table. “No fun in revenge plots if the protag can’t even shoot a gun,” she says, scrunching up her face.

“Blaster cannons are perfectly acceptable for the common man,” Tony says smoothly.

“That’s...not true, Tony,” MJ says, scrunching up her face.

“He just likes the fireworks,” Pepper says, walking up. “Welcome, Liberty Legion.”

“Hey, Pep,” Bucky says, saluting. “Atteeeennnn- _HUT!_ ”

The Liberties cease all activity, immediately switching to a salute.

“A well-oiled machine,” Pepper laughs, watching them switch back to their lax, playful selves just as fast.

“Work hard, play hard,” Nat says, passing her the case. “In case May changes her mind.”

“Shooting range,” Tony grins with a snap of his fingers. “Loophole!”

Ned pulls the case, laughing. “I got it.”

“Thanks, Ned,” Pepper nods.

“Make sure you put it in the range,” MJ warns, hand now resting on Peter’s hair, absentmindedly twirling the strands.

“I’ll take it if you can drop Peter off,” Ned counters, grinning innocently.

She flips him off with her free hand, to the delight of everyone present, himself included.

“Young blood is good blood,” Nat comments, watching them. She nods at Tony. “Shall we?”

Peter glances up. “Meeting?”

“No shop talk,” Tony says pointedly, adjusting his cuffs.

“Dinner’s over.”

“You’ve _been_ talking shop,” MJ smirks.

Someone claps from the doorway.

They turn, spotting Friday and Peggy providing mild applause.

“Your schooling is going well,” Peggy smiles, hands returned to her back.

“Could’ve just been me being her roommate,” Friday quips, copying her position.

Pepper smiles.

Tony _augh_ ’s. “Can we move on? Peggy, Fri—have you eaten? Plenty left.”

Pepper laughs. “Come, let’s talk,” she says, waving them to the hallway.

“I’ll take some of that gelato first,” Kate says, hopping over to the buffet table. “Buck? Nat? Old man? You want anything?”

“Cannolis, and whatever pasta they got,” Nat says.

“Pasta,” Bucky echoes. “Big boy portion.”

“Diet,” Clint says, throwing her The Bird.

“I’m gonna pick you up a beer,” Kate says, squinting.

Clint switches to a thumbs up.

Kate fistpumps. “Nailed it.”

Happy walks up, buttoning his suit jacket. “Will the Liberty Legion be staying the evening?”

Tony quirks a brow at him. “Have you been hanging out with Viz?”

Happy frowns. “Let me have this.”

“It’s a little weird, Hap.”

“Doesn’t match,” MJ blanks.

“ _No bueno_ ,” Ned winces.

Peter just frowns like a two-year-old being given medicine.

“Hooligans,” Happy frowns.

“There he is!” Tony cheers.

“So you stayin’ over or not?” Happy huffs, turning to the gang.

(Kate topples a six-pack, sending metal cans rolling by the buffet table.)

Bucky shares glances with his crew, then turns to him. “Sure, why not.”

“You armed?”

MJ, Peter, and Ned snicker.

Tony and Friday giggle.

Pepper is polite, and frowns to hide her grin. A measly attempt, but still.

“...Go on, Peggy, you know you want to,” Happy exhales, facepalming.

“Oh, no thank you. This is excellent practice,” Peggy replies, face expressionless. “Right, Nat?”

“Hell if it ain’t funny, though,” Nat says, smirking.

Bucky unplugs his arm and waves it in front of himself, grinning slyly. “Am I?”

“I’ll let Viz know,” Happy sighs, walking ahead.

_Click!_

“Ah, posterity,” Clint grins maniacally, showing the group the picture.

“Extremity,” Ned muses.

“Alright, now that _that’s_ settled: shall we?” Tony says, wiping ghost tears from his eyes.

Kate walks up with pasta-filled paper containers, a loose set of beers, and a spoonful of gelato in her mouth. “Aye-aye, ca’ain!”

* * *

“Deal’s a deal,” MJ deadpans, after the party leaves. She nods at the metal case. “Range.”

Ned tips his hat, standing. “Get m’boy home safe.”

“Up, Pete,” she says, poking Peter’s side.

Peter _yelps_. “Sleepy, still ticklish,” he whines, standing with great effort.

“Yes, I know, that’s why I went for it,” MJ grins. “Still miss me?”

“Less. A _lot_ less.”

“Sure, Pete,” Ned laughs, taking the case. “Let’s go!”

* * *

The clinic is crowded and brightly lit, the sounds of crickets from outside making an odd melody with the beeping equipment.

Helen and Bruce give them a strict ten minute limit, reminding them of May’s weakened state, then step out for a quick breather.

“Donna,” Bucky says, bowing. His crew follows.

“Welcome, Liberties,” May says weakly. “What’s the word?”

“The Vulture’s supplying their weaponry,” Nat says, moving forward. “Their bases are scattered through downtown and Brooklyn, as you know.”

“Small things,” Clint smirks. “Like bugs.”

“They don’t build anything in-house, as far as we could find,” Bucky says. “Except for the bullets.”

“And the Captain?” May says.

“Steve’s getting forensics movin’ quick. Our samples should be in tomorrow.”

“Twilight?”

Bucky shrugs. “As always.”

“I don’t want any attacks,” May says slowly. “Not _yet_. Peter wants in.”

“Heard you shut that down,” Nat says, quirking a brow.

“They have until I’m cleared to come up with a plan to sway me.”

“Generous, Donna,” Clint says, tilting his head. “The kids are ready?”

“MJ has done nothing but excel,” Pepper replies, head held high. “And Ned’s skills match hers and Peter’s perfectly.”

“I would prefer my nephew to stay out of this, but he _is_ brilliant, like his parents,” May frowns.

“Has Ben’s fire and shot,” Tony adds.

“Less so his control.”

“That can be taught.”

“A long game, then?” Nat smirks, picking at her nails.

“As long as it takes,” May says, closing her eyes. “Assuming they convince me.”

“Something tells me they’ll do just that,” Pepper smiles.

Bucky grins. “Sounds good to me. We’re staying overnight, May. If you need anything.”

“Some rest,” May says, voice fading. “And to watch my boy.”

“As you say,” he replies, bowing again. “Let’s go, Liberties.”

Clint holds the door open. “Feel better, May.”

“When this is over,” May breathes, “I will be.”

* * *

“You didn’t have to walk me,” Peter mumbles, half-falling over in the hallway.

“Dude, you can’t even walk properly,” MJ huffs, hauling him up to a standing position. “All this from a food coma?”

“I’m exhausted.” _Emotionally, physically. Anything-ally._

“Never drink, Pete.”

“Anything you say, MJ.”

“Anything?”

“Except a blind date,” Peter winces. “I don’t wanna go on a blind date.”

MJ laughs softly, opening his and Ned’s door. “Okay.”

She helps him kick off his shoes, following suit before walking in. She guides him to the bed, and he plops face-down without any fuss.

Peter hugs his pillow gratefully, breathing in the familiar scent of fresh laundry ala Viz. “ _Mmm._ You really didn’t have to walk me, MJ.”

He feels her sit by his feet.

“I gotta tell you something,” she blanks.

“You love me?”

 _Cough_. “Established.”

“Uh-huh.”

“If you want to get through the Greenies,” she says slowly, pulling up her feet and leaning on the back wall. “You’re gonna need a suit.”

Peter rolls over, propping himself up on his elbows. “Like, bespoke?”

“Exactly. But not what you’re thinking.”

“...What did they tell you? At the meeting?”

MJ hugs her knees. “Promise you won’t try to find the pictures.”

A cold fear runs down Peter’s spine. “...Promise.”

“Promise you’ll stop Ned from trying to find the pictures.”

“I promise.”

“On May.”

“As you say.”

MJ inhales.

Her eyes are glass—shattered and unclear.

“MJ?” Peter asks quietly, sitting up and leaning on his knees.

“I can handle the planning,” she starts carefully. “I can get something bulletproof, on paper. But you’ll need to get bulletproof in practice. Bruce called mid-meeting and they confirmed it’s a prototype—something worse is coming, and it won’t be as easy to treat.”

“A _full_ suit," he says slowly. "With headgear.”

“Head-to-toe,” MJ nods, “but concealed, somehow.”

“The nanotech could work,” Peter muses, head on his arms.

“Ned’s been designing some new stuff,” MJ says, glancing at the desk. “Gloves, boots, vests—he drafted a back piece for my calves, too, but he’s still figuring out the logistics.”

“And I’ve been messing with armored robots.”

“And I can help code.”

“So we’re set,” Peter says, eyes shining with pride. “You’re set.”

MJ’s lips twitch up. “You’ll have to be groomed, still. You’re a mess in meetings.”

“You could teach me.”

“You’d just distract me,” she laughs quietly, getting off the bed. “Tony’s got charm for days, anyway.”

“Everybody loves you,” he whispers, lying back down.

“You’d have to get my specific set of personality traits, and that’s impossible.”

“I’m not like Tony.”

“You’re bouncy and easily distracted—you’re exactly like Tony.”

Peter pouts. “I don’t hit on people.”

“Let’s be fair,” MJ laughs, “he stopped that when Pepper finally said yes. Still terrible, but he _did_ stop.”

“You really think I’m like Tony?”

 _Snort._ “Nah, you’re better.”

It’s soft and careful and _curated_ , and Peter stares at her with drooping eyelids. “No one’s like you.”

She stares back; the glass is smooth. Clear.

He blinks.

She moves to the door. “Lights off?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“Night, Pete.”

“Night, MJ.”

_Click._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you comment asking something that's a spoiler/will be explained, i wont answer the q or ill be very vague so uhh ye
> 
> pre-winter soldier-style bucky because i can and i WILL
> 
> also ima be on vacay for a bit, dont expect any updates for a while B)


	4. chapter 3: a prodigal and a pharaoh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM ALIVE i just had so many tiny bits to finish from this chap but theyre DONE NOW #blesst

### chapter 3: a prodigal and a pharaoh

 _Knock, knock_.

“Enter,” Tony says, leaning back in his office chair.

The doorknob turns.

A lithe woman enters, with long, dark brown hair and the sharp features of the Renati family. She bows.

“Karen,” Tony says, blinking. “You’re early.”

“On-time, Don Stark,” Karen says, stopping in front of his table, hands clasped behind her. “I would have come earlier, but I had to settle my housing situation.”

“May’s resting.”

“And Peter?”

“At the range,” Tony says, fingers steepled.

“Shall I assess his skills?”

“May has him off-book.”

“And myself?” Karen asks, feeling unkempt in her shirt and jeans. The sun peeking over the sleek decor and gadgetry in the room makes her eyes smart momentarily.

“ _Preferably_ off-book,” he replies, frowning. “Your wasting your discharge, Karen.”

“Sir, I’ve been trained by the best,” she replies, catching his gaze. “May is older by far, but I am _not_ sitting out on this insult.”

“I don’t call the shots for the Renatis,” Tony says plainly. “But honestly, I don’t want you in, either.”

“But you’re willing to have Peter join.”

“Not really, but at least Peter has Ned and MJ.”

“And me.”

“You haven’t been home in seven years, Karen,” Tony says, frowning harder. His chair makes a light sound as he sits back. “You come back from a war zone to fight in another one?”

“Tours make this look like child’s play,” she smiles. “I’m sure Nat would be of help, not to mention Peggy.”

Tony sighs, drumming absentmindedly on the edge of his desk. “Let May know I tried.”

“The attempt was nice.”

“Call Helen before you go, she’s keeping the Donna on restricted visitation until she’s able to get off the bed herself.”

Karen winces. “Was a site-check conducted?”

“Of course.”

“I would like the photos.”

Tony snorts. “You really wouldn’t.”

“They did _this_ to _my_ family and you think I wou—”

“Karen,” Tony says with a low voice, “Pepper controls who sees what. In my _entire_ boss life, she’s let me see _every_ site-check photograph I’ve asked for. _Except_ for this one.”

Karen furrows her brows. “But—”

“Request denied,” Tony says with finality. He twists a hologram on his table, flipping pieces of information away into folders before looking back up. “Go find Peter if you want to.”

“I’ll…I’ll see May first,” Karen says, bowing again. “Thank you for your time, Don Stark.”

“You can’t keep one foot in and one out, Karen,” Tony warns as she steps out. “If you’re in, you’re _in_.”

“Tony,” she says coldly, turning from the doorway. “‘In’ is how I’ve been living since I left.”

He half-grins, chortling. “Good point. Tell May that Pepper and I will be visiting later.”

Karen turns back to the hallway, dark brown hair fluttering like a cape behind her as she goes. “As you say.”

* * *

Helen gives her five minutes.

“Don’t tire her,” Helen adds, holding up a finger. “One of you will bring it up, but cut it quick. She can argue with you and Peter all day after she’s released, understand?”

“Yes, doctor,” Karen says, expressionless.

“Good. Now, show her a smile at least—it’s been too morose here the past few days,” Helen says, moving from the door, her coat swishing past.

Karen nods, smiling weakly as she steps through the door.

* * *

“Karen, you’re home,” May says, eyes still closed. 

“Hello, cousin,” Karen says, walking up and clasping her hand. “I’ve come to help.”

“You know my father was proud of you.”

“With all due respect, May, Tony already tried to sway me. Me, a soldier,” Karen says, quirking a brow. “An intelligence officer, even.”

“Hmm,” May smiles, opening her eyes and glancing over. “Welcome back.”

Karen keeps up her smile. “I wish it were for a better reason.”

“They’ll get what’s coming,” May says, squeezing her hand. “By whose hand…we’ll see.”

“If by Peter’s, I’d like to at least make sure he’s capable.”

“Tony’s offered.”

“You’re still trying to keep me out, I know,” Karen says, sighing and smiling softly. “But let me remind you: Tony’s _etiquette_. I’m _job_.”

“…Ah, I already knew I would lose,” May laughs, closing her eyes again.

Karen pats May’s hands. “Enough of that then. Do you need help with the funeral arrangements?”

May swallows thickly. “They’ve been cremated. The illnesses…it was better that way.”

“And a service?”

“Pepper has it ready to go when I’m given the green light.”

“Efficient.”

“There’s a reason she caught Tony’s eye,” May grins, fading to sleep. “A lovely person to have in the family.”

“They’re visiting later, by the way,” Karen says, kissing May’s forehead and smoothing her hair. “I’ll let you rest, cousin.”

May exhales, exhausted. “Thank you, cousin.”

* * *

“Your aim’s improved.”

Peter lowers the rifle to the table, safety on. He swivels around searching for—

“Karen?”

“Hello, Peter,” Karen smiles, walking over. She looks to the target, head area cleanly decimated. “You’ve been practicing.”

“Someone tried to recruit me to a varsity team.”

“And you said no?”

“Didn’t have time,” Peter shrugs, stepping away to make room for her.

“The army’s always looking for engineers,” Karen says, inspecting the rifle.

“I don’t think I’ll pass the medical.”

 _Laugh_. “You won’t, no. Is this a new one?”

“From the Liberties,” Peter nods, pointing at the etched text on the barrel.

“I doubt you’ll use _this_ much,” Karen says, looking at the boxes of ammo on the table.

“Oh,” Peter says, shaking his head, “no, nope. But Rhodey gives me extras.”

Karen raises the gun, reloading effortlessly, almost dance-like. “What did you say to get May to agree?”

Peter watches, stepping away and pressing the button for a new target. “We have to have a plan to convince her, but it’ll be me. No one’s looking for me.”

“Good start.”

_Bam-bam-bam!_

“One’s off,” Peter says, pulling up the target after Karen puts the gun down. “It’s a weird rifle.”

“Indeed,” Karen says, turning to him. “Who’s thinking up the plan?”

“MJ.”

“Good. You’re almost guaranteed.”

“…Thanks, Karen.”

“For?”

“Not trying to talk me out of it.”

Karen watches him slump his shoulders, leaning on the divider. She shrugs. “If you succeed, I get to train you. If not, I’ll go myself. Either way, we get them back, Peter. Either way.”

“They won’t know what hit ‘em,” Peter says, eyes on the floor.

“No,” Karen smiles ruefully, pressing the button to move the target back. “No, they won’t.”

_Bam-bam-bam-bam-bam!_

* * *

May rises with the sun on the eighth day, shaky but determined.

“Fruits and vegetables only,” Helen says, doing a final check of her monitors. “Unprocessed meats can come in in a week and a half. No shortcuts, understood, Donna?”

May smiles. “Thank you for being fearless, Helen.”

“I’m a doctor,” she grins, “I’m more afraid for my patient’s well-being than my own.”

“Dangerous, in our field.”

“Bruce is a good partner to have in this—his nature dictates gentleness, but he’s always itching for a fight. I guess you could say I’m the same way, but my fights are mental.”

“It’s a good description.”

“Let’s get you on your chair, now, Donna,” Helen says, pushing the wheelchair ahead. “Every day you rest is another for them to plan.”

May huffs, swinging her legs over the side of the bed carefully. She stands, one foot then the next, with a deep tiredness, but without the frailty of her first days. She walks two full strides to the wheelchair, watched by Helen from a yard away.

She sits. “Satisfactory?”

Helen _ehhh’_ s. “It’ll do. Everything else seems fine—Bruce will be with you today.”

“And you?”

“On-call.”

“Alright.”

Helen waits, watching the Donna situate herself with the electric wheelchair.

May tests out a few functions, swivels, then resettles herself.

A breath, as the sun’s rays land on her and her wedding ring.

A breath, as the whirring equipment by the bed dies down.

A breath, as the Donna rolls back her shoulders, a _crack, crack-crack_ echoing in the room.

“Call for an evening meeting,” May says with a firm, deadly voice, sitting in the wheelchair as if on a throne. “Let’s hear what the family has to say.”

* * *

MJ walks in, stops, and stares blankly at them long enough for one of her loosely-rolled cuffs to slide back down.

“What?” Ned asks mid-dance, his t-shirt showing the beginnings of a hard workout.

She sticks her tongue in her cheek. “…I should be surprised, but if I were to find any _mafiosos_ who listened to One Direction, it _would_ be you two.”

Peter quirks a brow, pointing between himself and Ned with his water bottle-mic. “ _Just_ us? You _sure?_ ” he teases, wiping away a trail of sweat from his forehead.

MJ clears her throat. “I showed you my Spotify in confidence.”

Peter winks. “What’s a secret between friends?”

 _Ahem._ “Some things stay in locked boxes with laser tripwires.”

“Specific,” Ned says, rubbing his chin.

“Meant to be,” MJ says, tilting her head at him. “Stop going into my room.”

“Friday invites me.”

“Friday’s always out when you’re in our room.”

“Coincidence.”

“Nothing to find, Ned,” Peter says coolly, finally pausing the music.

Ned scrunches up his face. “You’re a lousy liar, and the fact that you guys are teaming up is a tell.”

“They were mostly glorified weather reports,” MJ adds, leaning on the doorframe, arms crossed.

“Don’t bother fact-checking,” Peter says, watching Ned move to check the bottom bunk. “I didn’t bring ‘em.”

“Lame,” Ned says, running a hand through his hair. He furrows his brows, turning to MJ. “Wait, _why_ are you here?”

“Spying,” MJ deadpans.

 _Squint_.

“Heh. We’re invited to a pre-dinner meeting,” she says, tossing her phone. “Dressed down. PJ’s preferred.”

“Tony’s the weirdest Don in existence,” Ned laughs, checking the screen. “Also, you could’ve texted.”

“Needed to walk,” MJ shrugs. “Fun to visit my boys.”

Ned shrugs, accepting it.

“May’s up?” Peter asks, a grin growing.

“No visitors,” MJ says, a hand already up in warning. “Bruce almost yelled at me for trying to say hi.”

Ned whistles. “At _you?_ ”

“I know. It is _exactly_ as weird as it sounds.”

Peter deflates. “Is she gonna be at the meeting at least?”

“Methinks that’s why Tony wants us dressed down.” MJ says.

Peter nods. “Okay.”

“So it’s tonight?” Ned asks, raising his brows. He already knows the answer, but: “You ready?”

“I expect applause from at least one of you,” MJ says, chin raised. She winks at Peter. “But mostly from you.”

Ned snickers, grinning toothily as he slinks to his closet, digging for clothes.

Peter opens and closes his mouth repeatedly, letting a lone, “ _Ah_ ,” escape before settling for a smile and a red face.

MJ laughs, waving once in goodbye as she moves back out of the room. “Take it easy, nerds. The hard part’s almost over.”

* * *

A robe-over-silk-pajama-clad Tony pulls Peter aside before he can walk into the meeting chambers, a half-perplexed, half-disgusted look on his face.

“Hey, Tony,” Peter says, hands in his pockets.

“Kid— _no_ ,” Tony says, holding Peter by the shoulders. He looks up and down at him, noting the bland, grey sweatpants and plain white shirt. “Just. What is this? Didn’t we send you money? You’re not _broke_ , are you?”

“Uh,” Peter says, turning to Ned, confused.

Ned shrugs in his Stitch onesie cluelessly, pulled ahead by Reptar!MJ as the small crowd enters the room.

Peter turns back to Tony. “No?”

“Okay, this is…no, _nope_ , we’re fixing this. Friday? Viz?” Tony calls, fingers snapping.

“Yes, boss?”

“Sir?”

Tony rubs his chin, eyeing Peter’s frame. “Get him something befitting a Donna’s nephew.”

“Fri?” Viz asks, turning to his sister.

She grins, and Peter feels fear. “I’ve got just the thing.”

* * *

“ _Hello Kitty_ pajamas?” Tony says when they return to the dining hall entrance.

Friday has her chin up, a proud smile on her lips. “Aye.”

“Killin’ it, Fri,” Tony says, prompting a high-five.

_Clap!_

“These are _really_ comfy,” Peter says for the nth time since changing.

“My sister’s been _waiting_ to fix your fashion sense, little sir,” Viz says with a ghost of a smile.

“It’s ‘cause he won’t let me touch _his_ wardrobe,” Friday stage-whispers to Peter. “Big Boring over there.”

“Practical, sister.”

“My _Doctor Who_ sweater is plenty practical.”

“It has fairy lights on it.”

“The better to burn a man with,” Friday says, waggling her brows.

“Not in the meeting, Fri—we’ve got flammables in there,” Tony says, ushering the three of them inside with a clap of his hands. “C’mon, the appetizers will get cold.”

“Thanks again,” Peter grins at Friday as they walk inside, pulling the pajama shirt over his mouth like a hiding turtle.

Friday pats his head and corrals him under an arm. “Anythin’ for my mate, mate!”

* * *

The room is full.

The heads of the Liberty Legion bum around in the center, the living room-styled mish-mashed chambers having a lush rug there to serve as a cushion. They toss candies at each other, playing dead if they drop one.

Steve stands a respectable distance beside Peggy, the two waiting for their turn to greet the Donna.

The Maximoff twins move around the room, tonight being their turn to serve dinner. Wanda uses magnetic tech to float and fly hors-d’œuvre to guests, the scarlet-colored lights making her seem otherworldly. Pietro dashes between and towards guests, offering drinks and taking down main course choices for dinner.

The little spies from Central Park have made it as well—Thor happily chats with his brother, Loki, and their bodyguard, Valkyrie. He periodically busts into character, spouting old, formal English sentences to anyone willing to listen.

“Make sure Val doesn’t empty out the cellars again,” Tony tells Viz as they walk towards the back of the room. “That was embarrassing.”

Viz nods stiffly. “We ordered a truck-full just for her, sir.”

“Knew you were worth keeping around,” Tony smirks.

Viz smiles, amused.

“M!” Friday calls to her roommate, weaving herself and Peter through the milling crowd and onto their spot in the line. “Look what I got your boy,” she grins, showing off Peter’s new digs. “Nice, yeah?”

“I would’ve gone for _Powerpuff Girls_ , but yeah, ballin’,” MJ replies, scanning Peter from head-to-toe with an expression he recognizes as her _Art Study Notes_ face.

“We should try styling his hair like Buttercup,” Ned muses, a stuffed, blue paw/claw rubbing his chin as the music overhead takes over.

Peter rolls his eyes.

Ahead of them, Rhodey clasps Tony’s arm as he approaches, the old friends sharing a hug.

“Haven’t seen you in two days, Rhodey—what’s up with that?” Tony says, face scrunched. “Are you two-timing us? Looking for a new gig?”

“Got called to Washington, Tones,” Rhodey sighs, half-annoyed. “I tried calling you, but Pepper said you had a meeting with that kid from the West Side.”

“Oh, yeah,” Tony says, rubbing the knuckles on his left hand. “I was pretty busy.”

“I won’t ask,” Rhodey grins, clapping his shoulder.

“Never should. Have you said hi to May, yet?”

Rhodey eyes the line. “I better get on that—looks like a long wait.”

Tony smirks, pushing him and cutting into the middle of the line. “C’mon, it’s disrespectful to skip on greeting the guest of honor.”

And there, sitting under the portrait of Alberto Renati, in her husband’s favorite concert tee and her own bargain sweatpants, is the Donna. Karen sits to her right, on the armrest of a couch older than Peter, but somehow looking more put-together. Bruce stands to her left, bow tie on and shoulders squared. The line moves steadily, Stark family members and friends mostly keeping their interactions short yet meaningful.

Nat takes her turn and offers something in a whisper, eliciting a light laugh from the Donna.

“No murder!” Tony yells from right behind her. He drops his voice. “You know, in case the feds ask.”

Nat rolls her eyes, but offers another smile to May, saying, “Remember: I’m the best.”

“My dear,” May says, leaning back, “the call may be made.”

Nat smirks, nodding. She bows discreetly to Tony and Rhodey before leaving for a back corner.

“Rhodey wanted to say hello,” Tony says quickly, checking over his shoulder. “Oh, hey, Cap. Just a sec.”

Steve nods, politely waving at him and Rhodey when they finally step away from the Donna.

“How have you been, Steve?” May asks, a kind, motherly smile on her face. She shakes the captain’s hand.

“Very well, ma’am,” Steve smiles.

“The treatment hasn’t caused any problems?”

“No, ma’am. Fifteen years strong,” he grins.

“That’s good, Steve. Very good.”

“Glad you’re doing well, Donna,” Peggy smiles, hand around Steve’s elbow. “It’s always too gloomy without you.”

May smiles back. “And you, Carter—still taking care of our little Brooklyn boy?”

Steve grins wider, straightening as Peggy adjusts her hand and loops her arm through his. She glances up at him, sharing a warm look before turning back to May. “Oh, always. And thank you for the office recommendation.”

“Where men won’t believe in your skills is where _we_ benefit.”

“A very useful cover.”

“And near a nice ballroom dance studio,” Steve adds, a hand gently keeping Peggy’s arm in place.

 _Cough_ , from behind them—Clint pokes at Steve’s back, groaning. “Hey, there’s a chat time limit, you know.”

“Apologies,” Peggy says with a short bow to May as she pulls Steve along. “The captain will be here for dinner, Donna. We’ll take our leave for now.”

“As you say,” May nods, waving them along. She raises a brow at Clint as he steps forward. “The older you get, the more impatient your manners.”

“Eh,” Clint shrugs, ducking a bow. He waves Kate forward. “Little Wing wanted to beat the rush for the good drinks.”

“Donna,” Kate grins, clasping May’s offered hand. “They’re as good as dead.”

“Are you already tipsy or is that the Liberty talking?” May muses, tilting her head.

“Lil’ bit o’ both,” Kate says, a stellar look of mischief in her eyes. “But _mostly_ the Liberty.”

“Definitely the Liberty, unless Nat didn’t actually give her _kvass_ ,” Clint cuts in, placing a hand on Kate’s shoulder. “These Russians, you know. Alcohol in their kids’ chocolates, and all.”

Ned clears his throat from behind the Hawkeyes, unsubtly bumping into Kate’s back. “Close personal entourage comin’ through,” he mumbles.

“What was that about a time limit?” MJ quips from beside him.

Ned snickers.

“Ah, I hate karma,” Clint frowns, saluting a goodbye to May and the trio. Kate follows suit, walking away with her hands clasped behind her back, a jolly, childish skip in her step as she makes her way over to Pietro and his never-ending haul of liquor.

Ned and MJ move to the side, watching as Peter and May share a solemn moment of silence before:

“May,” Peter grins, rushing over to hug his aunt. He clings tightly yet gently, his boyish frame more pronounced as his messy, short curls shift with his movements. “I’m _really_ happy you’re out,” he mumbles over her shoulder, arms wound around her form like a shield.

“I still need to rest,” May replies weakly. She kisses his cheek, then his forehead, and pats his arms.

It’s all very similar.

To a different day.

With a different story, and a different dead Parker.

Well…

 _Two_.

“I love you, sweetheart,” May whispers, a hand rubbing his back like back then. Voice, a disaster.

“I love you, May,” Peter whispers back, a young child once again.

“Welcome back, May!” Ned grins, joining in on the hug. He tugs MJ over with one arm, smooshing the three of them together. “Aw. Missed this.”

“May needs to breathe, Ned,” MJ groans, wiggling free. “Not that I don’t enjoy the group hugs, but. Y’know. Recovering patient, _blah blah_ ,” she adds, waving a loose green claw around.

“Thank you, Ned, MJ,” May smiles, looking at the trio proudly. The sides of her eyes crinkle as she remembers. “Haven’t seen you three dressed so oddly since you were…what, 13? 14?”

“18, before graduation,” Ned shrugs, a small half-smile creeping up his face. “The Decathlon party at the events hall.”

“Ah, _yes_ ,” May says, eyes widening. “MJ almost broke Flash’s nose.”

MJ gives a small, innocent smile. “He’s lucky I prefer PR to getting my hands dirty.”

“Wait,” Peter frowns, a hand up. “He left _with_ a broken nose. I even gave him _ice_ —” he says, turning to Ned. “—oh. Right.”

Ned cracks his fingers. “His fault—shouldn’t have walked into my rock of questionable origin.”

“Twice,” MJ coughs, and Ned merely nods.

Peter rolls his eyes. “You—”

“There’s a _line_ ,” a voice says from behind, curt and worn.

“Hey, Val,” MJ says, turning and giving a quick nod. She pats Peter and Ned’s shoulders, gently moving them along. “Our bad. You want an extra keg later?”

“Would love it,” Valkyrie replies, nodding to her in acknowledgment. “Peter. Ned.”

“Val. Welcome back,” Ned grins, saluting lightly before walking off.

“I’ll see you at dinner, May,” Peter smiles, clasping his aunt’s hands once more. He turns, waving a little at Valkyrie. “Val. Thanks for bringing the Odinsons.”

“‘Course,” Valkyrie shrugs, motioning for the the brothers to move forward as Peter steps away. She bows to the Donna, and the Odinsons follow. “Donna. Delacorte misses you.”

May smiles. “While I have you here—any stories to tell me?”

Loki grins, a mark of devilish mischief in his eyes. “Now, Donna—two minutes for a tale?”

“You have my attention.”

Thor nudges his brother and clears his throat. “It was three weeks ago…”

* * *

May nods regally, sitting straighter as she calms down from her laughter. Valkyrie and the Odinsons leave their spot by her, the line ended. The crowd continues to chatter in varying volumes, the Maximoff twins still serving in tandem.

May looks to Karen.

Karen finds Tony’s gaze, calling him over with a small nod.

“Donna,” Tony says, walking up.

May inhales.

Exhales.

“…Call it, Tony.”

 _Ahem._ “Now! I’m sure you’re all excited about dinner,” Tony grins, addressing the crowd, “but we do have some business to attend to before we move to the main hall.” He raises his glass in Peter’s direction, and heads turn to follow. “First, as you can see—Peter’s back home. Second, Ned and MJ are joining him—yes, yes, clap, you’re paid to—”

May groans lightly, covering her face with one hand. “ _Tony_.”

“—Alright, jokes aside, the three musketeers are here to pitch a—what’s a nice, neutral word other than ‘plan’, Viz?”

Viz clears his throat. “Stratagem, sir?”

“Stratagem,” Tony says with a snap of his fingers, making eye contact with as many people as possible. “The young blood have a _stratagem_ to pitch to the Donna. I’m sure most, if not all, of you have heard of it by now.” He lowers his glass, turning back to Peter. “Mr. Parker wants in. This meeting is for the Donna’s benefit—to evaluate their plan, and to…um,” Tony stops, squinting at the trio. He frowns, turning back to May. “We’re not voting on this, are we?”

“No,” May says, head still in hand.

(Karen, behind her, facepalms.)

“That’s enough, dear,” Pepper laughs lightly, walking up to Tony’s side. “You can take your seats, everyone.” She smiles at the trio once everyone’s found a spot. “MJ, Ned, Peter—the floor is yours.”

MJ crosses her legs haphazardly as she settles into the recliner she’d beat Ned to. “Fri?”

 _Click_ , as Friday pulls out her notepad, pen in hand. “Minutes running.”

MJ looks up to May.

May nods. “Proceed.”

Peter inhales deeply, clasping his hands behind him as he stands across MJ.

Ned completes their triangle, cross-legged on the floor by Pepper.

“You’ve read Joseph’s story?” MJ asks with an empty tone, swirling the teaspoon in her mug.

 _Clink, clink_.

“Catholics, MJ,” Tony says, gesturing to the room lazily. “Go on.”

“There was a famine in Egypt,” MJ says, tone low and words slow. _Clink._ “And Joseph was over all the house of Pharaoh.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Friday breathes, dropping her notepad briefly. “That’s _brilliant_ , mate.”

“I skipped Sunday school,” Clint cuts in, raising a hand.

“I didn’t go to church,” Nat says, copying him. “Too busy getting paid to kill people.”

“Heathens, in my own home,” Tony squints.

“Your father was the one calling the hits, Tony.”

“Exactly. Heathens. In my own home.”

“Right, I still don’t get it,” Clint says, looking around the room for equally-confused companions. “Do we go to Egypt? I hear it’s not the best time for foreigners. Civil unrest and whatnot.”

“Joseph knew to harvest in the years of plenty,” MJ replies cryptically, eyeing each person. “So when the time the famine started, he sold the grain. Under Pharaoh’s command.”

Clint stares at her. “…So we’re going to farm.”

Kate nudges her mentor. “Dude. Let her finish.”

“Sorry,” Clint says, “I’m bad at listening to stories.”

(Nat opens her mouth to say something, but thinks better of it.)

Bucky rubs his temples. “Sorry, MJ. Go on.”

MJ shrugs; unperturbed, perhaps—accustomed, for sure. “The Egyptians bought from their own ruler. Then they ran out of money, so they traded livestock for food. And they ran out of that, too, so they sold themselves and their lands.”

“You’re a _genius_ ,” Peter breathes with widening eyes. His shoulders relax as he unclasps his hands, leaning over the nearest—Thor’s—armest. “I could _kiss_ you.”

MJ tilts her head at him, expressionless. “So do.”

Tony guffaws, slapping his armrest. “Pep, your influence is _amazing_.”

“That’s all her, honey,” Pepper says proudly. “Now then—” she starts, turning to May. “Donna Renati?”

May chortles, shaking her head in disbelief. “That’s one more person to never bet against.”

“So it’s settled?” Tony asks, looking around the room.

May nods once, solemnly. “As you say—I let it be.”

Tony grins and gestures open-handedly. “Look at that—you did so well that she had to say the full thing!”

“I’m missing something,” Clint says, hand raised again.

MJ smiles slyly, raising her hands, palm facing herself. “We take out their suppliers—” she starts, lowering a finger.

“—Take over the businesses. Puppet everything—”

Two more fingers fall.

“—Cut off foreigners, cut off interstate trade. Make them dependent on us—”

Three more.

“—Kick ass—”

One.

“—Take names.”

Another lowers as she finishes, each hand proudly holding up The Bird.

“Did you practice that?” Tony asks, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

MJ shrugs. “Improv.”

“ _Brava_.”

“I like this plan,” Clint says, smirking and hopping in his seat slightly. “I like this plan a _lot_.”

“How many people are we allowed to take out?” Bucky asks, adjusting his metal arm.

“As many as needed,” May replies, eyes like steel.

“Just send word of when and where,” Steve says, smiling. “I’ll have my team shuffled around.”

“We’ll be sure to send some… _tickets_ their way,” Loki grins.

“Amongst _other_ things,” Thor adds, smiling playfully.

Tony moves up, clapping Peter on the shoulder. “And you—with me.”

Peter takes a breath, sharing a look with MJ and Ned.

Thus the curtains fall.

“Let’s do this,” he says, shoulders set.

MJ nods.

Ned grins. He stands, pride in his unwavering smile, and starts a slow, steady _clap_.

Others join in, and the room shakes with cheers and claps and clinking glasses.

Karen joins in the rising applause, a steady clap in the chorus of laughter and cheering and whistles that floods the hall.

“To the new blood!” Tony cheers, raising an empty glass of wine. “And—more of this Primitivo, please, Pietro. Good stuff.”

“Yes, sir,” Pietro says, bowing and exiting the room with lightning speed.

“ _To the new blood!_ ”

* * *

“Shameful, shortstack,” MJ says, nudging Peter as they leave the meeting and head to the dining hall.

He quirks a brow.

“Ned started the applause.”

“Oh,” Peter blinks, flailing. _Hello Kitty_ dances along with a mocking smile. “I—I’m sorry, I was kind of—”

“Word vomiting?” Ned smirks, catching up.

MJ grins, pleased. She puts up her Reptar hood. “Messin’ with you. I think we’ve earned din—”

“Son, with me,” Tony says as he passes them with a quick stride, and it’s the first time Peter’s heard him refer to Ned that way.

“That’s a serious call,” MJ stops, frowning.

“Yeah,” Ned says, following Tony from a distance. “I…I’ll see you guys at dinner.”

“He gonna be okay?” Peter asks, furrowing his brows.

“Should be. Tony just likes the dramatics.”

Peter snaps his fingers. “Oh, wait—I have something to show you.”

MJ raises a brow, blinking. “And not Ned?”

“You’re the one who didn’t want me to show Ned,” Peter grins, eyes with mischief.

MJ tilts her head at him, but takes his outstretched hand, shrugging at Friday as they rush through the crowd.

In the _opposite_ direction.

“We better be back for dinner, Pete,” MJ frowns, a _grumbling_ sound coming from her gut. “The menu said there’s hummus from Ayhan’s, and I’m planning to eat _all_ of it.”

Peter stops and smiles at her. “I promise,” he says softly before tugging her back through the sea of people.

(MJ wonders why it sounded like a different sort of oath, and why her own smile felt like it was gunning to destroy her cheeks.)

* * *

Ned follows as Tony heads to the elevator, and forces himself to keep silent as they descend to the third-level basement.

Off they go, into the metal and rock, off into a nearby door that screamed _Bank Vault_.

Tony scans his hand and eyes, and the door opens with light fog.

Darkness covers them as they step into a room big enough to echo, metal-lined and dotted with red emergency lights.

“We’ll head to dinner in a bit, but first…congratulations, kid,” Tony says, snapping his fingers.

A flood of lights turn on, and Ned stumbles slightly, adjusting to the sight of the—

“The lab?” he gawks, turning on his heel to survey the room. “The—the _big_ lab?”

“Full access,” Tony says, grinning. He pats Ned’s shoulder. “Do me proud.”

Ned scans the consoles, hands hovering in disbelief. “Holy…”

“Oh,” Tony says, snapping his fingers. He makes a sharp turn to one of the closets, picking up a garment bag from inside. He walks back, holding out the package delicately with a distant look on his face. “Almost forgot—your parents wanted you in the old style when you fully joined. Think of it as a belated present from them.”

Ned unzips the bag, pulling out a beige button-up… “ _Barong_?”

“Had the original designs they wanted,” Tony nods, taking the _barong_ from his hands and holding it up to the light. “Just like what your grandfather wore.”

Ned thumbs the shirt, a lump refusing to leave his throat. “I—”

(Bloody pavement and an empty house.)

“I want to save it,” he says, motioning to return it to the bag.

“You’re right,” Tony says, nodding. He places it back in the garment bag, and then returns it to the closet. “It’s a pajama party anyway.”

“Yeah,” Ned says, clearing his throat. “But—Tony?”

“Yeah, kid?”

“Thanks.”

Tony turns, quirking a brow at him.

Ned smiles bashfully, looking like the child he’d taken in so long ago. “Thanks, you know, for taking me in. Me and MJ both.”

 _Ahem_. “Would do it again, kid,” Tony smirks, walking up and guiding him back to the elevator. “Now—I believe we ordered celebratory cake…”

* * *

MJ follows Peter back to his and Ned’s room, smile slipping the farther they get. “Full offense—your room? _Way_ far from the dining hall.”

“It’s worth it, I promise,” Peter says, a determined grin on his face as he glances at her.

“I’ve eased off the gummies. Just FYI. So those for dinner would not be ideal.”

He rolls his eyes, finally arriving at his door.

In he goes, and off to his bed to scrounge up a bag for his—

“Your laptop?” MJ asks warily. “That’s it?”

Peter shakes his head, still grinning while he hands her his laptop bag, unzipping it as she holds onto the handles.

MJ furrows her brows at him.

Then at the papers inside.

“…You brought them?”

“MJ, where would I have _left_ them?” Peter says, frowning playfully. “The lab? Where other undergrads could take a look?”

“You…lied to Ned. Successfully.”

“Wow. Thanks.”

“We could make a Don out of you yet,” she says, chin resting on her fist. “Like, a really wimpy, really unintrusive Don, but a Don nonetheless.”

“ _In my own home_ ,” Peter grinds out, brows furrowed.

“Technically, it’s Tony’s.”

“…In my own _room_.”

“Again, Tony’s. You’re a couch surfer, my dude.”

“It’s like you don’t care.”

A crease flickers between MJ's brows as a faint frown finds its way to her lips. “All those letters I sent you, and you think I don’t care?”

“No, you—I mean, _obviously_ —I, I hope—um, I think? I, uh—” Peter stammers.

“Messing with you, Pete,” she says with a lilt, walking backwards to the doorway. She leans on the frame, arms crossed and laughing lightly to hide the beating of her chest. “C’mon, nerd. You promised we’d be back for dinner.”

 _Gulp,_ as Peter struggles to contain his smile _._ “Yeah,” he says breathlessly, putting back the laptop bag. “Yeah, let’s go.”

* * *

**_Fall, Freshman Year_ **

 

_Dear MJ,_

 

_You kept texting me to write a letter, so here it is._

_I suck at this, obviously. I’m kind of all over the place and took like five breaks to get one sentence down. I’m doing good on this paragraph but we’ll see how long that lasts._

_Update: it lasted zero seconds after I wrote the period._

_How do you do this? How do people sit still and_ _do_ _this???_

_The weather’s fine in Cambridge, I guess. You would know, ‘cause you check the weather report on your phone. Like a normal person. With access to the internet._

_Are letters supposed to start with “Dear ___”? Sorry if not._

_I already text you about this, like, daily, but please make sure May and Ben get to have a date night even with work and stuff._

 

_Miss you and everybody,_

_Peter_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the plot THICKENS


	5. chapter 4: everything the light touches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh boy
> 
> hey so you guys are litty lit lit and ilu all for the comments and kudos!! thanks for enjoying this wild ride almost as much as I am

### chapter four: everything the light touches

“MJ, you’re taking over for the Osborn deal,” Pepper says the next morning, immediately after a meeting with multi-tiered family leaders about the finer points of the plan.

MJ blinks, breaking standstill. “Really?”

“Really. You’re ready.”

“The meeting on Saturday—with _them_ —”

“All yours, kid,” Pepper smiles, passing her a wristwatch. “For protection.”

“I—” MJ starts, taking the device. Her mouth opens and closes, eyes darting from the watch to her mentor. “—thanks. Thank you.”

“Don’t worry.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re worried.”

“It’ll pass.”

“Have you been sleeping?”

(Bubbling wounds on familiar faces, disfigured and caked with frothing grey and green and red _._ )

“How honest do I have to be?” MJ asks, staring straight ahead.

“Take some time off,” Pepper says consolingly, but with the unmistakable tone of an order given. “Go to the city, have some fun. Take the boys and Karen.”

“Do I look that bad?”

“I’m… _very_ glad I didn’t send you to the site,” Pepper frowns, hands stopping in movement as she keeps MJ’s gaze. “The twins could barely stomach it, and _they_ ’ve seen things.”

(The dead, the dead, the dead.

How many people has she seen dead?

But none like this.

None with what the Greenies had done _._ )

MJ’s jaw clenches. “You’ll be at the meeting?”

“With Peter, out back.”

“How little respect can I give them?”

“MJ, your style is different from mine,” Pepper smirks, eyes glinting. “And frankly, Tony’s right—they deserve _none_. I’ll leave it to you—you have my blessing.”

MJ smiles slyly.

(A tall, nine-year-old girl with her head in a book and a flair for the sciences.

A thirty-something-year-old man who looks nothing like her father bringing her to and home from school on “job days“.)

(Ten and twenty and thirty people in photographs, contorted on the floor.

Thirty, and the great man one of them.)

“They killed Ben,” MJ says with a low, _low_ voice, rolling up her shirtsleeves carefully. “I’ll make sure they feel their place.”

* * *

“A day out?” Karen asks, surprised. The grip on her duffel bag loosens. “Shouldn’t I be training Peter?”

“Relaxation is good for the brain,” Pepper says, handing her a wallet. “Besides, you haven’t been home in a while, either. It’s good to survey what you’re planning to protect.”

“…Is that formal code for ‘go be a tourist’?”

Pepper smiles. “Possibly.” She pats Karen’s shoulder. “And you need to go shopping anyway. You know the place?”

“Where Scott’s been working?”

“That’s the one,” Pepper says, walking off into the hallway. “Get something nice for Peter while you’re there, too.”

Karen sighs, looking down at her plain set of clothes. Another cardigan, another t-shirt, another set of jeans. “Well. It was nice knowing you.”

Back she goes, to her room and to her closet.

Back they go, guns neatly stacked and exercise bands coiled and hung.

Another day, perhaps.

A _glint_ as something on the bed catches her eye—a shiny metal box, big enough to hold—

“A watch?” she says, picking it up and inspecting the back. “‘ _To find home._ _-M_ ’—ah.”

She puts it on, snug on her left wrist and hidden under a sleeve.

 _I’ll have to thank Tony later_.

* * *

Ned finds MJ standing in her—and Friday’s—room, sweats on and eyeing her closet with pure anguish written on her face.

And emanating from her hunched form.

And ingrained with the colossal groan she lets out on loop.

“Aw, what’s wrong, canton?” he asks, leaning into view.

“I don’t have normal clothes,” MJ says, groaning again.

Ned points at her stack of expensive (but high quality!) plain tees. “Yes, you do.”

“I don’t have… _nice_ normal clothes.”

“One: those _are_ nice. Two: I think it’s cute that you want to dress up for the love of your life—”

(MJ debates, momentarily, if keeping her hands clean is worth it.)

“—but, like, we’re probably gonna walk around for hours. Better to be in the t-shirts and sneaks zone, y’know?”

(Worth it. For now.)

“I adore and hate you infinitely,” MJ blanks, picking up the one on top.

A deep red.

Hmm.

Ned turns and closes the door as she changes into it, tossing her (read: Peter's old) MIT sweater onto her bunk. She picks a nice, light denim jacket to throw over it, and passes it to Ned after calling him over.

Close goes the cabinet, the mirror on the door their new view.

“Just so you know,” Ned says, helping her into the jacket, “he knows about the driver.”

 _Sigh_. “…Friday?”

“Who else?”

“She’s worse than you,” MJ says, pulling her hair out from under the jacket.

“That’s a hard sell.”

“Was he upset?”

It’s careful, strategic.

It’s quiet, and a little distant.

A little scared.

Ned grabs a scrunchy from her desk, tying her hair in a neat half ponytail. “He doesn’t have, like, a _claim_ over you.”

“No, I know.”

“He just wants you to be happy.”

“Thanks,” she says as he finishes. She exhales, stretching out before she starts rolling her sleeves. “And: that doesn’t answer the question.”

He picks out stray strands, making sure her mess is a controlled mess. “…A little bummed, but apparently Fri didn’t tell him it was a job.”

“Of course she didn’t.”

“He’s fine, MJ. Pretty sure your _super_ open flirting since he got back made up for it.”

 _Smirk._ “Meanwhile, your bench trick backfired.”

“Coulda been better.”

“Thanks for trying to distract us anyway.”

“Anytime.” One final _pat_ as Ned pulls his hands from her hair. “All done.”

MJ moves to the side, giving him a half-hug. “Nice.”

Ned smiles, throwing an arm up and over her shoulders, tiptoeing to kiss her cheek. “Lil’ MJ’s all grown up!”

“Ridic,” MJ says, rolling her eyes. “It’s going to fly around the _second_ we step outside.”

A smug smile as Ned looks up at the ceiling innocently. “Peter can fix it.”

 _Snort._ “Where _is_ your other half, anyway?”

“Tony ambushed him for a quick lesson since we’re leaving the compound.”

“I hope it’s not dating advice.”

“ _Psh_. He wouldn’t.”

She quirks a brow, the mirror doubling it in effect.

“ _Okay_ ,” Ned says, pitch rising. “He would. But May asked him to do it, so I don’t think he will.”

“Yet.”

“Yet.”

“How’s Bets?”

Ned beams instantly, and MJ finds it extremely infectious.

“Dude, you’re so in _love_ ,” she laughs, mussing his hair slightly as she grabs his face, making his look at the mirror. “Look at your smile, you dope!”

“I can’t help it! You know I can’t help it!” Ned whines, the smile trying (and failing) to fall from his face.

“I know you can’t! That’s _why!_ ”

“You’re the same way, dummy!”

“It’s not the same, your smile is _way_ easier to spread!”

 _Knock, knock_.

MJ releases Ned, and he opens the door.

Wanda smiles. “MJ seems put-together, so I’m assuming there was no wrestling?”

“Ned’s whipped,” MJ says simply, shrugging one shoulder in his direction.

“Oh, we all know.”

MJ smirks at Ned.

Ned sighs, turning to Wanda in defeat. “What’s up, Wanda?”

Wanda raises three set of car keys. “Your choice.”

“We’re driving?”

“Unless you want to take the bus?”

MJ raises a finger before Ned can answer. “Is the Mini a choice?”

Wanda shakes her head. “Pietro took it to Long Island.”

“Long drive for a small car,” Ned says, scrunching up his face.

“Had to look too small to fit a body.”

“Please tell me he’s getting it cleaned after,” MJ frowns, wrinkling her nose.

“Of course.”

“What else can we use?” Ned asks, moving forward to inspect the keys. Wanda drops them into his hands, and he hums, looking them over. “Rover?” he asks, turning to MJ and holding the keys up. “You can drive if you want.”

“May’s asking that you get there and back alive, so best leave it to Jones,” Wanda teases, winking at the two. “Sorry, Ned.”

MJ grabs her messenger bag and takes the keys, bumping shoulders with Ned. “ _Heh_.”

Wanda makes way for her then steps out of the room, patting the doorframe. “Have fun, kids—no trouble, okay?”

“Aw, c’mon Wanda,” Ned says, hands up in disbelief. “Low blow.”

“Close the door, Ned,” MJ calls from down the hall, twirling the keys on her forefinger.

Ned huffs, following Wanda out and closing MJ’s door. He points at the older woman, pouting. “You’re lucky I think you’re cool.”

Wanda smiles, patting his shoulder. “The baby’s going to love you,” she says, before leaving him there, dumbstruck in the back end of the hallway.

“Leeds, you comin’?” MJ calls, confusion in her frown when she turns and spots him stuck by her door still.

Wanda makes her way past and down, off to the offices in silence.

Ned’s jaw takes two snaps before returning to his face. He blinks, eyes wide, running over to MJ and gesticulating wildly, words failing to form.

“Don’t tell me she cast a spell on you,” MJ squints. “That joke is _old_.”

“The!” Ned hisses finally, pointing down the stairs. “ _She!_ ”

“Uh.”

“ _Nngfff_ ,” Ned groans, throwing his hands up in defeat.

“Pat-pat,” MJ says monotonously, patting his head. “I’m still driving, though.”

“ _Ughhhh_.”

* * *

Tony’s personal lab is a personal _mess_.

Various types of wires and loose metal pieces are arranged in a specific fashion all around, looking more and more like abstract art every time Peter tries to decipher the method and reasoning behind their current placements.

A _clack, clack_ on the polished concrete floor relocates his attention to the man himself, dressed down to his famed rock-band-tees-and-jeans work ensemble, and the blaring rock and roll music matches his gait, as if it were practiced.

(Viz had told him it was.)

“First lesson: you’re a Stark now,” Tony says, adjusting Peter’s collar. “No one can touch you.”

“No one?”

“ _No one_.”

There’s a hint for more information, but Tony doesn’t add to it so Peter just nods silently.

“Second thing,” Tony says, moving to a holo-table. He swipes around, opening a menu with Peter’s health data on it. “You’re scrawny. You’re going to need training. Cardio, strength—anything Karen says, you _do_ , got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

Tony nods. “Good. It’s not a looks thing—you’re vying for power here, and your reflexes need to be quick if you want to stay alive, or keep family alive.”

Another nod from Peter; he’s fighting the urge to squirm a little, maybe tap his hands and fingers around to let loose some energy.

“Third: you’re going out to the city today,” Tony says, handing him a watch. “You know what this is?”

“A blaster,” Peter says immediately, letting Tony attach the device to his wrist. “Like Ned’s.”

“Nope,” Tony says, adjusting the strap.

“Wait, what?”

“You, Karen, and MJ got watches today, but they’re for tracking and calling in an emergency,” Tony explains. He takes one last check before letting Peter’s wrist free. “As far as the world cares, you’re civilians, or, in MJ’s case, clean.”

Peter stares at his new watch, looking for any discernible knobs or buttons.

“You turn the marker wheel clockwise once—full turn—then press the big knob.”

“Oh,” Peter says, hand hovering to try it out, “thank—”

“Don’t use it unless you have to,” Tony says, stopping his hand. “The alarm’s annoying as hell, and it notifies _everyone._ ”

“Oops.”

“Right.” _Cough_. “Anyway. Fourth thing, and most important: have fun,” he says, gripping Peter’s shoulders. “You’ve had a tough couple of weeks. De-stress. You can head downtown until 19th Street, but preferably stick to midtown, got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. The Greenies have been trying to step in past 23rd, and I don’t want to cause any trouble.” Pause. “Well. Yet. Point is, stay in our turf.”

“Got it.”

“…And if MJ says _no_ —”

“I’m gonna go say bye to May,” Peter groans, walking out hastily. “See ya, Tony.”

 _Snickering_ follows him out, with the unmistakable sound of a high-five between man and robot.

* * *

“What’s up with him?” Peter asks at the garage, staring at a mostly-silent, huffing Ned.

“I think he’s mad that Wanda thinks he’s a bad driver,” MJ says, _clicking_ the car unlocked.

“But that’s true,” Karen says, cardigan resting on her arm.

“That’s not— _ugh_ ,” Ned says loudly, devolving into an exhausted huff.

“Oh dang, he speaketh,” MJ blanks, looking over. “Did the spell wear off?”

Peter’s brows knit. “Spell?”

“Is this still about Wanda?” Karen laughs lightly, opening the back door. “It’s not polite to call her a witch, Ned.”

“She’s!” Ned starts, blanking on the next word.

Peter shrugs, sliding into the backseat.

“…Aaand, back to forgetting English. Okay,” MJ says, climbing into the driver’s seat. “You may shotgun, DJ Silence.”

Ned sticks his head into the passenger side door, puffing up his cheeks.

Karen raises a brow. “Ned, we need to leave _now_ if we want make it to the tailo—”

“Pregnant!”

 _Silence_ , as the car absorbs the sound.

“Wanda—” Ned breathes, finally, “—she’s pregnant.”

“Dude, you are _so late_ on the news,” Peter says, buckling his seatbelt with a chuckle.

“ _What_.”

“They told us at that din—oh, you were in the bathroom,” MJ says, clicking her tongue. “Nevermind.”

The engine revs to life, and the garage doors open to the countryside.

“Really, Edward,” Karen says as they head out to the main gate, “even _I_ knew that.”

 _Zip_ , past a new recruit by the main building, startling the lanky teen. MJ’s eyes widen a fraction when she sees his face, but it goes unnoticed by the other three.

“Your job is _literally_ to collect information about _everyone_ ,” Ned counters.

“Technically speaking, my dear,” Karen says sweetly, subconsciously touching her watch. “I’m currently unemployed.”

* * *

They park in a secret garage in the middle of Central Park, taking some time to stroll through the browning leaves near the Delacorte Theater.

Karen takes a deep breath, savoring the fresh air in the midst of a smoky city. She watches with mild amusement as Ned collects an armful of leaves from a nearby pile, jumping and showering his friends with oranges and reds.

MJ grabs a handful, the cracking leaves leaving dust on her hands as she throws them his way.

Peter sneaks away as the two duke it out, finding a fresh pile and repeating Ned’s plan, with the added surprise of loose twigs falling over and getting stuck in his friends’ hair.

Here, in the shade and breeze, in jeans and shirts and unsuspecting jackets, they could be anyone.

Karen wonders, _What if?_

_In another life?_

A smile grows on her face as the three laugh, Ned the loudest, and pick the little pieces of nature off of their clothes and hair in an old habit of a tandem.

“We’ll be late,” Karen says kindly when they’ve cleaned off, smiling still.

They whisper laughing apologies, walking towards her like an obedient set of toddlers.

Karen catches Peter in a half-hug. “Having fun?”

“Yeah, Karen,” he says, grinning dopily. “I am.”

“Good.”

“Hi, Val!” Ned yells then, spotting the bodyguard on her smoke break.

“Stopping for a show?” Valkyrie asks as they near the side of the theater.

“Not today,” Peter smiles politely. “We gotta see Mr. Pym.”

Valkyrie nods thoughtfully, saluting as they leave the premises. “You drove?”

“Car’s at the slot,” Karen says, gesturing behind them.

“I’ll check on it every now and then.”

“Thanks, Val,” MJ says with a nod, and off they go. “Tell ‘em we said hi.”

“You got it, kid,” Valkyrie says, quickly puffing her cigar. “Tell Pep I love these.”

 _Salute._ “We’ll send more.”

“Cheers.”

* * *

Betty calls while they’re out walking and eating their lunch on the edge of Broadway, post-suit-fitting.

“Hey, Bets!” Ned says, holding up the camera to show his friends. “Say hi!”

“ _Hey, guys! Is that Peter? Haven’t seen him in ages!_ ”

“Hey, Betty,” Peter waves, throwing an arm over Ned’s shoulders. “Taking care of Ned?”

“ _Could be the other way around, Parker—Ned’s dependable_ ,” Betty says, blonde hair flying with the breeze.

Peter squeezes Ned’s shoulders, smiling at Betty approvingly. “You’re right.”

“How’s the weather?” MJ asks, pushing up the phone. “You need anything?”

“ _A warmer coat would be nice,_ ” Betty laughs, pulling down her beanie. “ _Should’ve taken Liz’s offer for her old Canada Goose._ ”

“Just buy it. I’ll transfer in…there,” MJ says, tapping on her own phone. She looks back up as the _ding_ from Betty’s side registers.

 _Whistle._ “ _MJ—_ ”

“Don’t worry about it, B,” MJ shrugs. “It’s all in the family.”

“Oh! Speaking of,” Ned exclaims, lowering the phone. “I get to use the big lab now!”

Betty’s eyes widen. “ _What? That’s great! Since when?_ ”

Ned starts walking ahead, waving a silent _I’ll be back!_ to his companions before he does so.

Karen nods, keeping an eye on him.

“Okay, so, the meeting…” they hear as he heads to a clearer spot by a stage door.

“You two can go sit,” Karen says, leaning on the wall. She nods to a bench nearby. “I’ll keep my eye on him.”

“Always liked these new benches,” MJ says, plopping down on the cool steel. “Little works of art.” She pats the seat beside her and Peter takes it with a smile.

Soft.

Hopeful.

 _Ahem._ “So… _that’s_ going great,” Peter says, jutting his chin out at Ned.

Ned, as if hearing them over the milling tourists, turns to wave.

“It is,” MJ says, waving back lazily.

They sit in silence for a few more minutes, both leaning back on the bench with a small but obvious gap between them. Ned continues on his call, tapping his phone and presumably showing Betty a view of the street, bright lights clear even in the daylight.

“How ‘bout you?” Peter asks after a while, ears tipped pink. “Seeing anybody?”

“Sort of,” MJ smiles softly, and his heartstrings don’t know what to do.

“Oh,” he manages, off-guard.

(Somewhere behind them, Karen shakes her head.)

MJ rolls her eyes, nudging him playfully. “C’mon, dumbass,” she says, standing. Her hair falls slightly, and Peter makes a surprised sound as he spots something familiar.

MJ turns, quirking a brow.

Peter points at her hair, mouth hanging slightly. “You—I didn’t notice.”

“Notice…?”

“You kept it.”

“Kept _wh_ —oh.”

Peter purses his lips, nodding off-beat and awkward. “Yeah. It—it looks nice.”

MJ clears her throat, hand instinctively weaving through her hair in the general direction of the dyed strand. “I—yeah. Thanks. It, uh, it reminds me.”

( _Of you_ , is how Peter finishes it in his head.)

( _Of you_ , is how MJ had meant to end the sentence.)

“The goop was uglier,” Peter says softly, eyes shining with something indiscernible. The side of his lips quirk up, and the wrinkle there by his eyes is, MJ thinks, a new sort of artwork. “Good thing you used real dye.”

(Full bellies and an abundance of decorative materials.

Sleepy smiles and three friends throwing paint and colored wax at each other as two adults watch, too amused to intervene.)

MJ half-smiles, shrugging lightly to hide the puff in her cheeks.

(A brown-haired engineer-to-be moving close to his lawyer-journalist friend, eyes dropping to her lips briefly…)

“Christmas was a lot of half-assing, so I forgive you.”

(…to conceal a swipe of bright purple paint to her hair.)

Peter fights back a smile. “Good to know.”

She sticks her tongue in her cheek, doing the same. “Yup.”

“Ned’s done,” he says, not looking away.

“Cool.”

Peter stands, tiptoeing to bump shoulders. “Thanks.” Pause. “So this guy…?”

“He’s a little dense,” MJ says, smirking. She ducks her head, walking towards Ned. “Let’s go, Pete.”

Ahead, Ned waves them over, turning so Betty could view them behind him as he waved goodbye.

A break, as Peter watches MJ glance back at him, dancing lights bouncing off of her skin in a visual medley.

Her eyes dig into his, and he thinks, not for a short while, that they're brighter than all the neon and chrome that the city has to offer.

And warmer.

By  _far_.

“Peter, even _I_ know she meant _you_ ,” Karen laughs quietly, breaking him out of his reverie with a clap on his back and a push forward.

(MJ turns back around, securing Ned in a sideways hug.)

“I—I knew that,” Peter stutters, finding his footing. “ _Pff_. _Duh_.”

“Dude, c’mon!” Ned yells, calling their attention. “If we hurry, we can sneak in a pit stop at Rockefeller!”

“We should—” Peter says, awkwardly fumbling a gesture, “—go. That way. Yeah.” He spins on his heels, eyes wide with embarrassment as he ducks his head.

Karen shakes her head, following.

_I’ll give him that one._

* * *

**_Fall, Freshman Year_**

 

_Peter,_

_I think you’re allowed to not put the “Dear” thing before a name. We’re Gen Z. We killed politeness, remember?_

_May and Ben are always together and it always looks like an eternal date. I have literally no idea what they would possibly do differently if on a regular date, and will leave them alone, which I’ve texted back to you. Daily._

_New York weather is exactly what it says on Google, plus five degrees. May’s going to help me fix the ridic humidity problem I have thanks to genetics._

_Your letter was pretty great. Didn’t think you’d actually do it. I get your attention span thing, though—I had to stop after the date paragraph and I’m…struggling._

_Maybe we’ll get better with practice?_

_Miss you back, noob,_

_MJ_

_PS: Are there sunflowers nearby?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -what's wrong canton is such a filipino thing WHY do we ask questions with food  
> -promised myself i would remember mj's purple streak FINALLY
> 
> next two chaps will be shorter probs but also I thought that about this one and I was wrong? so? hmm


	6. chapter 5: duties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter Exhausted me im ngl
> 
> may have more errors than usual because i had to post it without my beta cuz i wont have time to do it tomorrow oop (will be edited...eventually)

### chapter five: duties

May greets them when they arrive back at the compound. She stands regally from her wheelchair and Bruce hands her a wooden, glossy cane, which she takes almost effortlessly. She’s dressed down still, stuck in comfortable and loose clothing while her body recovers.

“I’ll take the car back,” Karen says, patting MJ’s shoulder from the backseat. “You three go on.”

“You sure?” MJ asks, bringing the car to a soft stop by the main house. “I can bring it, it’s not a big deal.”

“It’s fine, MJ,” Karen says, already getting out of the car. “I need to check the vehicles before heading in, and I’ll have to stop by the other garages, too. Two birds, one stone.” She waves at May after stepping off, then proceeds to opening Ned and MJ’s doors.

Ned gives her a full, proper salute, followed by a heart-shape made by his hands.

She replies with the same.

Peter slides out of her side of the car, readjusting his jacket. “Thanks, Karen!”

“No problem, Peter,” Karen smiles, and _thud_ go the doors.

“What’s she checking the cars for?” Ned asks, walking up to greet May.

“Bulletproofing,” May says tiredly, exchanging _il bacio_ with each of them. “Or lack thereof.”

MJ snorts. “I can _guarantee_ those things are bulletproof. Bucky took a few out for target practice last month.”

“Her brand of paranoia isn’t the kind I’m willing to argue with, dear. If she thinks they’re not going to stand up to our new roaches, we’ll have to develop some new shells.”

Ned squints. “So, me and Viz.”

May smiles consolingly. “I’ll provide the coffee.”

“Eh. It’s in the job description.”

“At least you’re feeling better,” Peter says, smiling. “Did you do okay today?”

“Inching closer,” May replies, patting his cheek. She looks down, a wobble in her knees becoming apparent. “…But still limited. Bruce?”

Forward goes Dr. Banner, catching her arm. Peter helps keep her steady as Bruce helps her up two steps to the wheelchair.

“Next time, Donna, perhaps the ramp?” Bruce says, helping her sit.

“Perhaps,” May says, handing him the cane. She looks up st the three. “How was the trip?”

“Fun,” MJ smiles, glancing at the boys. “Perfect weather.”

“Good company,” Ned grins.

“ _Hmm._ Refreshing,” Peter smiles, hands in his pockets as he stands between his friends.

“Good,” May says, taking a deep breath. She sits back, relaxing. “Not to scare you, sweetheart, but this is the calm before the storm. After the meeting on Saturday, all formalities will be taken care of—nothing but etiquette will keep them from another large hit, and when we start…well.”

Another breath, smoother and tinged with darkness.

“When _we_ start, Peter,” May says, looking her nephew in the eye, “the end will only come when blood is paid for blood.”

Peter raises his chin slightly, squaring his shoulders. “As you say.”

MJ and Ned share a look, smirk, and each lay a hand on Peter’s shoulders as they step up to May.

“As you say,” MJ says solemnly, eyes sharp and regal.

“As you say,” Ned says with a tip of his hat and a clenched fist.

“Aw, it’s like when _we_ first started,” Bruce says, tired eyes looking over the young adults fondly. “Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.”

* * *

Karen ticks off a box on her checklist, rounding the car once more.

“All good?” Pietro asks, watching her intently.

“It’s…they _run_ fine, I’d say, but we’ll have to swap the glass for those new sprays,” Karen says, brows furrowed as she scratches a finger at the base of one of the car’s windows. “Tony says the shells are made to shatter some of the thickest of pre-made bulletproof glass, and we can’t take that risk.”

“I’ll let Viz and Ned know.”

“There should be panes in the armory.”

Pietro quirks a brow, pouts slightly. “They’re done?”

“You know how the Don doesn’t sleep much,” Karen says, light and casual as she steps away from the vehicle. “He’s been fiddling with it since the hit.”

“Won’t it…” Pietro frowns, stepping towards the car. He gestures, open-handed, at the doors. “The body? If those shells rip through the glass—”

Karen smiles. “They’re _glass_ specific. An odd property, but the recreations don’t lie.”

“That may mean they have snipers.”

“It means exactly that.”

Pietro adjusts his bowtie, frowning. “Pompous, those Greenies.”

“…Pietro, my dear, I’m sure it’s not meant to be an insult to your maneuvering.”

“What it means and what it is don’t have to be the same thing.”

“Come,” Karen says, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. “Let’s fix these up. Get them ready for a show, hmm?”

“Hmm.”

“…Pietro?”

“My sister won’t be driving with me for a while,” he says, turning to her.

Steel, and fire, and darkened skies.

Ice, and death, and a brilliant mind.

He smiles, that wry, daredevil look etched in forever. “In person, I mean.”

Karen raises her chin. “The tech you two were developing with Viz—it works?”

Pietro looks up and over her, away to the entrance of the garage, away and to the west, where the new Irish lie.

“Karen,” he says, jaw clenching slightly as he grins. “When it is time, they will fail.”  

She watches as he checks his watch, sleeve pushed back to reveal the white-grey metal, one side etched with the half of a puzzle.

His voice softens into sighed speech, drizzled with the airy fog of yesteryear, where the twins hide their harmed souls from the rest of man.

The hands _tick_.

 _Tick_.

_Tick._

“When it is time,” Pietro says, tracing the puzzle piece with a hovering finger, “the Quiksilvers will show them why no one has killed a Stark on the road.”

* * *

“Wanna watch the sunset?” Peter asks between bookshelves at the library, hands preoccupied with running across spines and labels.

“What, like a date?” MJ asks, coughing at the end of the sentence. She keeps her eyes on the shelf in front of her, and not the boy—man?—behind.

 _Sputtering_ , as Peter looks through the bookshelf, panic-eyed as he catches Ned’s gaze on the other side of the shelves. “Ned—Ned’s invited.”

“Aw. Shame.”

Ned frowns at him, rolls his eyes thuds a book not-so-lightly to his forehead.

“So…no?” Peter tries, glancing to his side but not turning.

(His ears…may be tinged pink.

Possibly painted, in full.)

 _Inhale._ “Shame that Betty isn’t here either, I mean,” MJ says, shoulders high and tense. She tugs on a book about marine mammals, pulls it out and starts reading from somewhere in the middle. “Not a no.”

Peter turns, then.

Watches and waits.

Observes her cascading hair and taught shoulders, and the snail’s pace of an exhale she attempts.

Smiles, slight and golden, because he’s home, even if there are things missing.

He’s home, and he’s missed this.

MJ inhales deeply again, clamps the book shut.

Turns.

To him.

“…I hope you’re aware that you cause me immense torment,” she says evenly, the smile hidden in her eyes.

Peter’s grin widens, lips parting to say, “Yup,” in a chipper, impossibly bright tone.

“Ditto,” Ned cuts in, peeking over books. “But for both of you.”

“We know,” they reply in unison, as if to sharpen the point and skewer him with it.

(And if so, it works.)

“…Sunset’s soon,” Ned grumbles, pouting. He ducks, disappears in a haze of gold-lettered spines, and reappears at the end of their aisle, a bemused smile forcing its way up his lips. “C’mon, guys—this is the last time I’m chaperoning.”

“Can I quote you on that?” MJ smirks. She moves to tuck the book under her arm, but Peter taps her forearm, hand out in question.

“If you want,” he says, lopsided smile accompanied by crinkling, glittering eyes.

She clears her throat and passes him her book, cheeks puffing as she walks a step ahead.

Her eyes dare Ned to make a quip all the way til they make it outside.

* * *

(He doesn’t, but he wants to.)

* * *

(The sunset is made of more reds than previous nights, and Peter wonders, one arm straight but pressed to MJ’s and the other half-hugging Ned by the shoulders, if there could be anything else but war on the horizon.)

* * *

(They sleep to dark, empty dreams, remembering nothing in their wake, but feeling the resurgence of pain.

Of loss.

Because such are wounds of the soul: opened and never truly closed.

Plastered over and bandaged, but scarring forever.

Sometimes with fear.

Sometimes with guilt.)

* * *

_Knock, knock-knock._

“Come in.”

“…May?”

May quirks a brow, turning her head to find MJ in her doorway. She lowers her book, bed sheet rustling. “Hey, sweetie. What’s wrong?”

(In her room, decorated by family photos and adorned by comfort and love, one would almost think May Renati were an upper class mother of two and not, like, a powerful head of a gambling empire and local… _self-serve_ justice coordinator.)

“The meeting tomorrow,” MJ says, stepping in. Her hands are in her pants pockets, but she’s tensed up in every joint, breathing harsh and loud. “I just—do you have any tips?”

“For?”

“For not shooting them in the face,” MJ offers in semi-monotone.

“No weapons allowed at the meeting.”

“We don’t exactly follow that rule.”

“It will hurt them more,” May says carefully, placing her bookmark between the yellowed pages on her lap, “if we give them a slow ride.”

“You’re right,” MJ says, eyes darting to the side wall.

“But?”

 _Sigh._ “I came up with the plan, but sometimes I wonder if it…if it would help, to, y’know, finish it. Finish it _quick_.” Pause, as she swallows thickly, hands clenching. “We _could_. We could do it tomorrow, if we wanted to.”

Another pause as she frowns, attention caught by a solo picture of Ben on the bookshelf.

“Sometimes…I wonder if waiting is an insult.”

“Ben is— _was_ ,” May says, heaving a breath, left thumb reaching for her wedding band, “a patient man. With your father, especially, if you remember.”

MJ’s lips curl up fondly. “And my mom.”

“You’re not prone to the same habits, MJ. You have the capacity to wait.”

“I know.”

May smiles softly, crinkling eyes glancing away to the window.

A cardinal sits.

Calls.

Its mate arrives, dull-colored and beautiful, and they stay for a moment, looking curiously inside.

“He always thought the most precious things were worth the wait,” May breathes.

Flying birds exit her vision, leaving nothing but a empty, thin branch in their wake.

“I don’t…I don’t want it to happen again,” MJ says, ducking her head. “What I did.”

May faces her, a hand outstretched. “You’re asking for help, sweetie. And you know better.”

MJ steps forward.

Takes it.

Says nothing.

“The family wants to help,” May says, coaxing her forward. “And you, my brilliant dear— _you_ will show the world _exactly_ what a Jones is capable of.”

 _Snort._ “You sound like Peter. But fancier.”

“And less stuttering?”

“Less swooning,” MJ corrects, squeezing the Donna’s hand. “Thank you, May.”

“Hidden plans help no one, MJ,” May says, chin raised and regal. “And yours are like your parents’. They deserve to see the light of day.”

A bow, short but solemn.

(A game of chess with a familiar face.

A pawn sneaking its way through.

A laughing mother and a befuddled father.

A child.

Happy.

Content.)

“As you say.”

* * *

(Needles, needles, needles.

A new home and a new teacher—dark-haired and white-skinned, much like the child’s best friend.

Much like him indeed.)

(The child…never really grows out of hating needles.)

* * *

Friday wraps her hand, cuffs unbuttoned and pushed back behind her elbow. Red drops dry by her spaced-out feet, pointed to by her loose tie and vest ends.

“Who was it?” Viz asks, retying his bow tie by the office mirror.

“New kid,” Friday says, the arch in her brow signaling amusement. “Lad’s fancy with knives.”

“Clean ones, I hope?”

“Oh, of course, brother—no point in causing _real_ bodily harm in a nicking-fight.”

“Good.”

Viz tugs at the fabric, makes sure it’s in place before he grabs a rag off the side of Friday’s chair and heads for the bathroom.

“Thank you,” Friday tells him, flexing the fingers on her bandaged hand.

“You’re welcome,” he replies, water running in the background.

He wrings the towel, walks back and kneels. “Scooch.”

She sticks her tongue out at him but lifts her feet.

 _Scrubbing_ , as Viz finishes up, and down go Friday’s feet again as he walks back into the bathroom and launders the rag.

“ _Ah_ ,” he hears his sister say, a click of her tongue echoing in the small room. “For the meeting, am I security?”

Viz turns, brow raised. “Not like you to forget assignments.”

“It’s been a… _busy_ week.”

“A hard one.”

“Yes.”

“Debrief,” Viz says, shutting off the faucet and hanging the rag off the sink edge before drying his hands. “You’ll be fine with your tie.”

“Who else is with you on security?” Friday asks idly, tucking the tail of her tie and closing her vest.

“Scott.”

“Haven’t seen him in a bow tie in _ages_.”

“We haven’t had members spread out this much since…” Viz starts, frowning, “…hmm. Since father’s time, I suppose.”

“Desperate times,” Friday says with a raise of her brows. She stands, rolls back her sleeves neatly.

A breath and a _crack_ of her neck as light filters in through the blinds, striped-lines catching on her face as she turns to her brother. “Off, then?”

Viz smiles, patting her back lightly in the direction of the hall. “After you, little sis.”

* * *

“Common sense says they’ll try to sneak something in, but Friday’s intel so far doesn’t raise any concerns about concealed firearms,” Pepper says, relaxing by the wall.

Tony quirks a brow from his seat on the bed by May’s feet. “Meaning?”

“They like big guns.”

“And contingency?” May asks.

“Ned, for one.”

“And me, for two,” Tony grins, hand raised.

“The Liberties will be making rounds outside as well,” Friday says, arm and notebook resting on a cabinet. “And Peter will be back with Pep and Karen.”

May nods. “The captain?”

“A button away,” Tony says.

“And you’re meeting at the Tower?”

“Yep.”

“Alright,” May sighs, heavy and long. She looks at Tony, drowsy eyes fighting back her medication. “You menace them, _capisci_? Show them what it means to be in this family.”

“Aw, _May_ ,” Tony smirks, scoffing and messing with his suit jacket. “It’s like you don’t even know me, _mia sorella_.”

“Your _worst_ behavior, Don Stark.”

“Donna Renati,” he bows, voice carrying smoothly and doused with respect, “there will be _nothing_ _less_ for the worms who forgot their place.”

* * *

(Helen and Bruce bust in moments later, aggravated at May’s lack of rest, and force the visitors out of the room.

“We had a deal, Donna,” Helen says, the frown on her face a terrifying sight.

“We _insist_ you rest,” Bruce adds.

That twitch on his temple rises again, and May allows herself to lie down, mumbling, “You two are worse than my mother.”

Bruce laughs, light and relaxed. “If it gets you better, May, we have no regrets.”)

* * *

Friday night ends with a frenzied race to arrange and rearrange rides and weaponry. Hidden cartridges and components stow away within seat cushions and inside traceless compartments, and last minute runs to and from the armory and garage are wracked with an obsessive tension as the vehicles’ windows are given final checks.

Peter spends it with May in her room, tidying up as his aunt sleeps, dreamless and deep.

He will, eventually, find himself curled up beside her, exhausted.

He will be wearing an old sweater of Ben’s—the ratty blue one from when they’d first taken him in.

He will be holding on to May’s arm like the child he once was, distraught in the silence of the night.

He will cry, but he will not wake her.

And then, in the twilight hours, he will fall asleep to even breathing and the promise of tomorrow.

Of beginnings.

Of justice.

Of revenge.

* * *

(May wakes him in the morning with a motherly kiss to the top of his head, and gently sends him off to his room to get changed, whispering a blessing and thanks.)

* * *

(It does little to ease his mind.)

* * *

“Quick thing,” Friday says the next morning, knocking belatedly on Ned and Peter’s door. “Meeting’s at the Tower.”

“We know,” Ned says, still in his pajamas.

“Right, and yet, you’re not dressed.”

“This entire family is full of procrastinators,” Peter says, rubbing his eyes.

Shadows underneath catch Friday’s attention. “You didn’t sleep?”

“I did.”

“Alright, don’t ever sign up for espionage—you’re a terrible liar.”

“An hour or something,” Peter says, yawning. “What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is you need to stay awake during the meeting,” Friday snorts, eyes glinting. She gestures to his clothes. “And, you know, change.”

“Can’t change with you here.”

“I helped change you when you didn’t know how to hold it in.” Pause. “But yes, that would be weird,” Friday says, patting the door. “Alright, then—I’ll be back in five, be at least halfway decent by then, eh?”

“That’s asking a lot from Peter,” Ned quips.

Peter frowns. “ _Hey_.”

“What?” Ned shrugs. “You said you didn’t sleep! Groggy Pete is _Zombie_ Pete.”

“Clock’s started,” Friday laughs, leaving the room and closing the door. “Hop to it, lads!”

* * *

(Friday comes back in three, because that’s funnier, and catches Peter rebuttoning his vest for what is apparently the third time.

“You mean to tell me Mr. Bullseye over there keeps missing the alignments?” she asks.

“Can’t MJ just come and help us?” Ned whines, gesturing tiredly to Peter. “Like, that would _def_ wake him up.”

“Oh, no,” Friday grins, mysterious and ruthless, “that would ruin the surprise.”

She steps away then, cackling as she makes for the main hall, the shiny red bow tie on her neck seeming almost metallic.)

* * *

(“‘Surprise’?” Peter asks.

“No idea,” Ned shrugs.)

* * *

Pepper stands in front of the doors, calling everyone’s attention. Various members stop in their movements, dropping half-tied ties and unlinked cuffs and turning to face her.

“Everyone ready?” she asks, voice clear and full in the large hall.

“I think that needs defining,” Tony says, watching Scott attempt to lowkey tuck in his shirt. “Scott. Pause.”

(He pauses.)

“I’d say we’re ready, madam,” Viz says from the back of the crowd, “Sans the slight wardrobe malfunctions, of course.”

Pepper nods, scanning the crowd. “You know your car assignments. I won’t be in there with you today, but I expect your best behavior when dealing with MJ, and your worst with the Greenies.” Pause and a breath, as she turns to her husband. “Tony?”

The Don steps forward, hands lazily in his pockets, aviator shades on. He eyes each of his family members, smirk never wavering.

“Thanks for dressing up for the occasion. Now, I want you all to remember one thing: we are _Starks_. You and me—we’re the _protectors_ of New York. We watch each other’s backs. _And_ —” he says, a finger up for suspense, “—when someone hurts our friends? Our _famiglia_?”

His smirk widens, and he tilts his head to show his darkening eyes. Out of the pocket goes his other hand, twitching as he presses a button on his watch, gloved blaster growing to life around his hand and wrist. “Well…”

He laughs lightly, stretching his fingers. Crackling energy echoes in the hall, light pulsing from the device with blue- and yellow-white fury.

It passes to all souls present—the reminder of their strength, of their name.

The reminder of their _family_.

And what is due.

Tony half-grins, cheeky as the lights reflect off his face.

“…we avenge them, now don’t we?”

* * *

“Hey, Peggy?” Peter asks the bow tied lady beside him, meek and confused as he does a once-over of the group once the doors open. “Do you know where MJ and Karen are?”

“They’ve gone ahead—had to debrief the Liberties,” Peggy replies with a kind smile. “Come, now. Off we go.”

“But—”

“Orders, Peter,” she says with finality, calming and disconcerting all at once.

Ned shrugs beside him, but he takes initiative and follows Friday to their car, and that’s about as well as the rest of the trip goes.

They sit in strained silence, Peggy driving and Friday beside her, eyes scanning security camera footage on the dashboard as they go along.

Peter spends it with his head propped on his hand, leaning on the door handle, phone confiscated by Friday after his third attempt at trying to contact his (girl-?)friend.

Ned’s quiet on the other end of the car, flipping his hat forward and back until the Manhattan skyline rises into view.

It’s the sight of Stark Tower that shifts the air.

Peter hears himself exhale.

Hears the muted _whirr_ of wheels on asphalt.

Hears the _thrumming_ of fingers on felt.

Ned rolls back his shoulders, the highway coming to an end.

“Ready?” he asks in a hushed tone, sharp eyes digging into their path.

Peter clenches his jaw, grasps the handle beside him.

“Ready,” he says, low and vengeful.

Manhattan is alive all around them, daring the world to stop it, to try.

Their convoy weaves through the busy streets, lights changing for them and no one questioning it.

This is _their_ city.

And no green-toting, goblin-faced, little pack mules will _ever_ take it from them.

* * *

Tony thinks, not for the first time, that retirement would’ve been so, _so_ sweet this year.

But _this_ gut-twisting tragedy just _had_ to happen, didn’t it?

Couldn’t have waited for him and Pepper to consolidate things, get their businesses on the straight and narrow.

Set up their heirs with a relaxing transition year filled with beach side vacations and culturally impactful field trips.

At 46, it would’ve been his greatest achievement.

Retire young.

Retire alive.

Retire _in peace_.

But these _stupid little_ —

Rhodey nudges him, brings him back to the present.

To the eighth floor of Stark Tower, where the elevators ding in rapid succession at the arrival of the rest of the family.

Tony spots the boys in the middle of the horde, stepping forward and patting them on the shoulder in greeting. He purses his lips, looks at Ned. “Show Peter to the back room.”

“Wait, I thought—” Peter starts, looking around for backup.

(Friday, unhelpfully, just gives him a toothy smile and a thumbs up.)

(All others present move towards the lounge, tidying their suits and arranging themselves on the couches and chairs.)

“You can’t be seen,” Ned reminds him, tapping away on his phone with one hand and pushing him gently with the other. “Sorry for the manhandling, bro, but we gotta keep you safe and secret for a bit, okay?”

“But—”

“I promised I’d take care of you, kid,” Tony says gently but firmly.

(Lives intertwined from birth onwards.

Two boys with a blood pact and unwavering loyalty.

Two men with smarts to beat them all and charm to ease the masses.

One man, now, a little broken and worse for wear.

One man, and a shadow of greatness he wishes were breathing and real.)

Peter gulps, glancing around for something.

Some _one_.

Tony smirks.

“The view’s better from the one-way,” he says.

Peter opens his mouth on instinct, then…clamps it shut.

Immediately.

Because it’s futile.

 _Snickering_ , as Ned pushes him again, phone now tucked back into his jacket as he flicks the brim of his hat at Tony. “ _Nice_.”

* * *

“Hey, Pepper! I got a present!” Ned grins, opening the (hidden) door to the (secret, duh) viewing room. He pats Peter’s shoulder, pushing him in gently.

“Did we forget to tell you about this arrangement?” Pepper asks Peter once Ned’s back out and the door’s closed.

Peter frowns, unamused. “Yes.”

“To be fair, Peter, it was assumed.”

“…I guess.”

“You haven’t been sleeping well.”

“So?”

“No need to be defensive,” Pepper smiles sadly, turning to the one-way glass. Her arms cross, tighten. “It happens to the best of us.”

Peter swallows thickly. “…Even Ben?”

(Long nights with the lights on in the living room.

Long nights with excuses about filing taxes and interesting readings.

Long nights with no papers in sight and no books cracked open.)

Pepper hums. “You’d know better than I. But, yes.” She turns to him, one side of her lips twitching up. “Of course, Peter. The man was a monolith, but he was still a man.”

* * *

(Karen joins them silently in the following moments.

Joins them and guards the door, bow tie crisp around her neck and suit pressed with a soldier’s precision.

Pepper says, “You can still leave.”

Karen says, “No, I _can’t_.”)

* * *

They arrive at 2:15 on the dot, right as the clock flashes off the four and on the five.

They arrive in a drove of fifteen—a show of force much like their own, but where the Starks encourage individuality in their dress, the Greenies live up to their name.

Deep green suits wrap around each man, fit and proper.

All ties in thin knots, all shoes a shining black finish.

(A little too _Attack of the Clones_ in vibe for Ned’s liking, if he’s being honest.)

The block of green splits down the middle.

(Rehearsed, possibly, though the Starks have a fair share of theatrics under their belts.)

No one says a word as the scuffle of fabric passing fabric dies down to a dim silence.

Not a word as calm footfalls echo in the room.

Not a breath, until the lights and shadows still.

And there, dressed in a bespoke suit of blackened green, surrounded by White and Whiter holding up his laptop and briefcase, is the man himself.

His dark brown hair is slicked back, shiny with gel. There’s a demeaning line on his lips, flat and etched deep.

His eyes glint, feigning boredom.

Peter hears the squeak of Tony’s shoes hitting the ground, sees him slide into view with a showman’s grace.

(Rhodey, beside him, smirks.)

“Mr. Norman Osborn!” Tony announces with an amused smile, arms open to gesture to his side of the crowd. “Welcome, to Stark Industries.”

* * *

  _ **Fall, Freshman Year**_

 

_MJ,_

 

_There ARE sunflowers. I texted them to you, and if USPS is on schedule, that would be about…three days ago._

_Yeah._

_School’s busy. Let’s hope we can keep this up, somehow._

_Does Ned know you’re writing letters to me? Does he mind that I basically have you to myself for this one thing?_

_(I haven’t told him, ‘cause I don’t know if you wanted to keep it a secret.)_

_So Tony’s putting up papers for you and Ned, huh? That’s wild. Are you gonna take it?_

_It rained yesterday, and I got my socks wet. I didn’t text you about it because I wanted to save it for this letter, like a surprise._

_(Surprise!)_

 

_Pet Murph for me,_

_Peter_

 

_P.S. - Tell me if you’re still allergic._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :> love you, God bless you, I'll see you guys soon
> 
> edit: HAHAHA I FORGOT THE LETTER LIKE A DUMMY


	7. chapter 6: naming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *jaws theme*

### chapter six: naming

“So _this_ is the _great_ Stark family,” Norman says, every word dripping with distaste as he takes his seat at the head of his crew. “Looks like an outdated diversity ad for Hollywood.”

“Not an ad, Mr. Osborn,” Tony says, shades glinting as he sits lazily on one of the recliners. “Just a group of people who needed a home.”

“So you’re a humanitarian.”

“My honors from around the country would say so.”

“And you take rabble, it seems,” Norman says, eyeing the group. His eyes land on Friday. “Imported, at that.”

Tony nods without turning.

Permission.

Friday grins, eyes darkening. “From _your_ land, Mr. Osborn.”

Norman twitches at her accent.

“I’m only half-Chinese, see,” she continues, leaning an arm on Tony’s chair. “And you’re full… _well_. As _we_ Irish say, you know.”

Norman scowls, leaning back in his chair. “Hmph.”

Tony smirks. “Looks deceive, Mr. Osborn. Though, _you’d_ know—a mirror a day must be a good reminder.”

(“The man’s a genius, but he really does have a death wish,” Pepper mutters, rubbing her temples.

“The Donna _did_ say…” Karen reminds her quietly, watching as Norman’s scowl deepens. “And Rhodey’s with him. It should be fine.”)

Tony grins again, swirls his finger in their direction. “Any intros for your thug—sorry, henchmen? Cadets?” He twists in his seat, stretches out to look at Friday. “What did I call ‘em last night? There was a good one.”

“Guppies, boss.”

A _snap_ of his fingers and another wide, chuckling smile as he turns back to Norman. “Your guppies! You know, if you pay attention to that kind of thing. Not sure. Maybe you forget to feed them sometimes.”

(“…I take it back,” Karen murmurs.)

“My soldiers’ names are on a need-to-know basis,” Norman says, smooth and craggy all at once. “ _But._ ”

Tony quirks a brow. “But?”

“My son,” Norman says, gesturing to the tall, handsome young man with a disarming smile and too much shining to his teeth.

The boy stands slightly off his chair—enough to be recognized, but not enough to show respect.

Norman grins, small but proud. “Harry Osborn.”

“Not a scar on him,” Viz notes with a teasing lilt, his attention squarely on the opposite wall.

“Oh, yes! Good point, Viz,” Tony says with a snap of his fingers, sitting up as if in recognition. He points at Harry. “What’s a fresh brat doing in this business?”

“I’m not _fresh_ , nor a _brat_ , Mr. Stark,” Harry says, an edge to his voice bordering on whining.

(“He’s like an annoying Tony,” Peter frowns.

“…I want you to rethink that sentence,” Pepper says.

“I mean, like, he’s obviously a bully. Tony’s _annoying_ , but he’s never been a Playground Bully type of guy.”

“ _Ah_. Then I agree.”)

“Only the fresh and bratty say that, kid,” Tony smirks, scratching at his chin. “But _wow_ , Mr. Osborn—this is your Second? Never even heard of him.”

(Lie.)

Harry’s face contorts, insulted beyond recognition. “I’ve been around Fo—”

“ _No_ , you _haven’t_ ,” Norman barks, and his son sits back down in a failure-tinged haste.

“Interesting talk,” Tony says, brows raising in acknowledgment. “Need a cheat sheet there, kid? Maybe a shock collar in case you slip up again?”

“How _dare_ —”

“The one for dogs, Lucky Charms. I’m usually a pacifist.”

(“Did he just call him—” Peter starts, squinting.

“Yes,” Karen and Pepper reply in unison, watching intently.

“—cool, okay.”)

“We both know the pier was an… _unfortunate_ byproduct of our way of life, Don Stark,” Norman says, calculated and slow, with his fingers steepled and smirk rising. “Surely you can overlook my son—and Second—’s _infrequent_ presence in Queens.”

“Sure, I could. But I won’t.”

“I thought you’d be more _giving_.”

“Oh, are you a charity case?” Tony asks, sitting up. “I have exceptions for those. What is it? Need new clothes? Maybe some haircuts?”

A _grunt_ from the Greenies’ side, and a concerted effort by some at the back at trying not to scowl too hard.

Tony smirks. “Did I hit a ner—”

_Knock, knock-knock._

“—ah,” he finishes, brows raising briefly. He switches to a smile as he leans back, endeared by whomever waits outside the door. “Enter!”

Norman leans forward in his seat, red rising up his neck and spreading quickly across his face. “What’s the meaning of this? This is a closed meet—”

“She’s with me, Mr. Osborn,” Tony says, raising a hand. “Shush for a sec.”

There’s a jangle of the doorknob, metal against metal making heavy sounds as the door swings open slowly. MJ strolls in with one hand in her pants pocket and the other holding an iced tea, cubes obviously freshly placed. She exchanges nods with Ned and the rest of the family and walks on over to a free sofa chair behind Tony, high-fiving her boss as she passes him.

“Who is _that?_ ” Harry breathes from the other side of the room, sitting up.

(If Peter didn’t want to deck him before, he sure as hell does _now_.)

MJ snorts, her lanky form casually draped over the seat’s armrests.

As if she weren’t in a meeting.

With a proven, blood-spilling mob boss mere feet away.

 _Sluuurp._ “Don’t bother, I already have a White Guy Love Interest.”

(Nevermind.)

(Peter just wants to get confirmation that _he’s_ who MJ’s talking about.)

Harry frowns, insulted. “Better than a Second?”

“By _far_ ,” MJ says coolly, folding an arm behind her head and closing her eyes as she swirls her iced tea in Tony’s direction. “Go on, Tones. I’m listenin’.”

“You let your foot soldiers talk to you with no respect? And lounge as if they’re at home?” Norman says, grimacing. “You’re worse off than I’d thought.”

“Oh? Haven’t you heard?” Tony says, tilting his head dramatically. “Pepper’s stepping down—or up, technically, but I know you have trouble with that kind mental know-how.”

(There’s a low growl from the Greenies’ side of the room, from Harry or Norman or the poor chump stuck holding the Osborns’ computer in his hands, as if the table in front of them didn’t exist.)

Tony grins. “Anyway, the point: that lady’s no foot soldier, Mr. Osborn. She’s my new _consigliere_.”

Norman’s back to scowling.

Harry’s falling between shock and dismay.

Tony’s looking around the room. “Oh, and the rest of them aren’t foot soldiers either. I take great pride in the family my grandparents started, Mr. Osborn. As far as I’m concerned, these people are all blood.”

“Dis _gus_ ting,” Norman says, enunciating every syllable.

“What’s your name, _consigliere?_ ” Harry asks with a horrid accent, brows furrowed and leaning forward in his seat.

“Michelle,” MJ says without peeking. _Sluuuuuuurp_. She raises her cup, inspecting it with blatant boredom. _Yawn._ “Michelle Stark.”

* * *

They get nothing done that day.

…Well, Tony got to insult Norman, and Norman got to try to insult Tony.

They got _that_ done.

And MJ causing that fuss in the middle of it.

That, too.

“Was it a safe idea to like…tell them about MJ?” Ned asks sheepishly when the trio (and Karen) hop into Tony and Pepper’s van for the ride home.

“If they touch her, they’re a new kind of stupid,” Tony says, leaning back in his seat. “It used to be unsafe for _consigliere_ s, when my grandparents ran this, but not anymore. You intentionally go for an adviser, and the entire community denounces you.”

“Keyword: _intentionally_ ,” MJ says from her seat between her boys, leaning her head on Peter’s shoulder. “If I jump a gun for someone, that’s on me.”

“It’s a roundabout way, but it keeps her safe,” Karen says. “I’ll try to make sure they won’t have your photo or anything close, but even if they do, you’ll be fine. It’s a _don’t shoot the messenger_ type of thing.”

MJ tilts her head enough to look at her friends. “Don’t worry, I like to stay away from bullets as a personal rule.”

“You riled them up a little _too_ well,” Pepper sighs heavily, reclining her seat. “I advise we wait for an open retaliation before another meeting. Norman seemed calm enough, but Harry’s jumpy.”

“I could take him,” Peter mutters, and MJ sits back up.

“Are you…” she starts, squinting at him, the slightest of curls to the end of her lips.

“He is,” Ned snorts.

“Am not,” Peter balks.

“Are too,” Karen smirks.

“Endearing,” MJ snickers, kissing his cheek.

An afterthought, at this point.

A subconscious habit that she usually reins in, but not today.

Tony snorts, badly hiding it with a whistle.

“ _Uh_ ,” MJ says belatedly.

“ _Uh-huh_ ,” Peter blinks, red all over.

She shifts, turns away and leans on the window.

Says nothing, looks nowhere.

Silence, save for the rolling wheels on pavement outside, and Happy’s _attempt_ at stoicism from the driver’s seat.

 _Ahem_ , then, once the bridge is in sight. “And…was that an acceptance of our offer?” Tony asks.

 _Exhale_ , slow and loud even amongst the wailing sirens. “…I think it’s time,” MJ says.

Ned moves, puts a tight grip on her shoulders.

“Thanks,” she whispers. She turns back to Tony. “I don’t want the plug pulled. But legally…yes. I accept your offer.”

“Pepper and I fully assume parental responsibility,” Tony says carefully. “Emotionally or otherwise.”

“I get it, Tones. But I’m still calling you by your names.”

“Wouldn’t want to make it weird,” he grins, giving her a thumbs up. He raises a water bottle. “To Phil and Maddie!”

(An empty house.

A light noise, and two grown ups returning, dressed slick and smart.

A hug and a kiss, or two, or three.

A hug and a kiss, to a sleeping child on her bed.)

They each grab a water bottle off the built-in cooler, exchanging encouraging glances and nudges as the van trudges along back over the Queensboro Bridge.

Raised hands and crinkling plastic resounds as they cheer as one:

“ _To Phil and Maddie!_ ”

(An empty house.

A soft voice and a comforting hand from two grown ups, dressed dour and dark.

A blur, or two, or three.

A blur, as the fifteen-year-old dives off the deep end.)

* * *

“How did it go?” May asks after the group arrives home.

They sit spread out in the dining hall, half the family relaxing and dressed back down to homey sweats and old shirts.

May sits with Helen and Bruce by her, ever watchful as the others take their seats. The trio of new blood sits across May, sandwiched between Karen and Tony. Pepper finishes the circle, sits by Bruce and greets him with a pat on the shoulder.

(Happy excuses himself, goes to sit with Scott and Viz—and in turn Hope, the twins, and Friday.)

“I expect retribution within the coming days, and so does MJ,” she says, all business as she mostly ignores the plate of food Tony slides down in front of her. “Messy retribution, at least. I doubt Norman himself would be in on it, but Harry’s always been prone to showboating.”

“Permission to have Ned as my permanent bodyguard?” MJ asks from across the table, slight annoyance at the tail-end of her sentence evident even as she stabs into a piece of cauliflower with her fork.

“Granted,” Tony says before turning to his wife. “Pep. Eat.”

“I will. I’m not _you_.”

“My _heart_ , honey.”

“It’s two minutes, Tony, I’ll survive.”

A pout and a _hmph_ , as the Godfather retreats to his own plate of steak and asparagus.

May’s brow quirks up in fond amusement. “ _Someone’s_ hungry.”

“ _Someone_ insulted and threatened a new mob boss for nearly two hours straight,” Pepper says, lips a thin, forceful line.

“Come now, Pepper, I _did_ say—”

“Didn’t have to call him a _glorified piece of broccoli_ , though,” Karen mutters from beside her nephew.

May blinks.

“I liked the Lucky Charms one,” Peter offers unhelpfully.

“Really, Tony?” May asks, half-frowning. “Cereal jokes?”

He chews and swallows before he answers, proud of himself. “The man was head-to-toe in green, so I took my shot.”

“A real shot would’ve been better,” Pepper says, finally digging into her food.

“For you or for him?” MJ asks blankly, sipping from her glass of water.

“For me.”

MJ hums.

“This is why people think up conspiracy theories about you two,” Helen says, cutting into her salmon.

Pepper huffs, stabbing her fork into her steak with light tension. “How dare they assume I’d want my husband dead. He’s only _mildly_ annoying.”

Tony smiles wide at her with closed lips, chewing proudly.

May shakes her head, hiding a smile.

The sounds of voices slow and dribble away, making room for the muted sloshes of drinks pouring and food being cut and moved around on ceramic and metal. Intermittent _sliding_ of chairs echo around the hall as more and more of the family stand to go for seconds or return their plates and return to their tables.

More drinks are poured and the soft, elegant music rises in volume as members take their leave to the lounge or wherever else, greeting the heads of family cheerfully as they do so.

Their table continues on, and just when conversation attempts a revival…

_Buzz. Buzz. Buzz._

“‘scuse me,” MJ says with a polite nod, taking her phone with her as she stands.

(Peter watches her go, unsurprisingly.

Ned shakes his head at _him_ , predictably.)

“Any other news?” May asks then, dabbing at her mouth with her napkin.

“A big one, but the one it concerns just walked out,” Pepper says, smiling immediately.

“ _Mm_ ,” May hums, nodding approvingly and setting the napkin down. She turns to Bruce and Helen. “I knew it felt like a cake night.”

Bruce smiles, bows his head slightly as he stands. “I’ll have them bring it out.”

* * *

“ _I got your text_.”

“Good. Where are you?”

“ _West b_ _ack house, changing._ ”

“You weren’t at dinner.”

“ _I’m not done yet._ ”

“When’s your initiation over?”

“ _Next week, probably. I’ll be with next month’s batch if I make it._ ”

“Cool. I’ll see you then, okay? And let me know if Friday’s going too hard.”

“ _Yeah, I will, M. Thanks_.”

“No problem. I gotta get back to the hall, but seriously— _mi casa es su casa_.”

 _Laugh._ “ _Yeah, yeah. I got it. I’m_ —” _Yawn_. “— _I’m outtie_. _Night_.”

“Later.”

_Click._

* * *

“What was that about?” Ned asks in a whisper when MJ returns.

She shrugs, face blank. “You’ll see.”

“I thought the surprise was your entrance at the meeting?” Peter joins in, leaning over.

“It was,” MJ says.

“…I’m confused.”

“You should be.”

He frowns at her and she sticks her tongue out at him and for a second it’s back to a trio of tweens playing around and above the dining tables while a family meeting chugs along in the floors above.

It’s Ned jumping and falling and Peter sucking at advice and MJ knowing first aid.

It’s bright golds in the afternoon light streaming in, airy dust soft as it falls around them, visible only in the beams of incoming evening.

It’s a pack of adults hearing about it, descending the staircase with dancers’ agility, fleet of foot and graceful in power.

It’s _them_.

It’s _all_ of them.

Until it’s back to the now.

Until it’s _not_.

* * *

(MJ tells them nothing even with the bribery of cake, to which Pepper comments: “Your asking her repeatedly isn’t helping your case.”

And MJ says, with a puff of laughter and a glint in her eye: “Thanks, mom.”)

* * *

“I’m _stuffed_ ,” Ned says after the cake, lolling his head back on his cushioned chair. He pats his tummy, yawns and stretches his shoulders as he leans over MJ to call to a slowly blinking Peter. “Dude, Lego?”

Peter straightens, shakes his head to remove the sleep from his body. “Ye—”

“Sorry, Ned,” Karen cuts in, collecting their plates. “I need to borrow Peter for an hour.”

“This late?” May asks, furrowing her brows.

“Prep, cousin,” Karen says, smiling kindly. “And it’s only eight—enough time to be back for a date, even.”

“Just—just going there, huh?” Peter mutters, shoving his open hand to his face.

“Gee, that’s a thought,” MJ says, monotone as she sips her tea, steam rising in front of her eyes.

“I love dinner time,” Ned says, grinning from ear to ear, chin resting on his upturned hand. “Like, a lot.”

Tony smirks. “Like how some people like other people?”

“ _Like_ isn’t a strong enough word, honey,” Pepper says, touching his arm and tilting her head exaggeratedly in thought. “Hmm. I’d say—”

“Save the Death Star for me,” Peter says with a _point_ to Ned, standing abruptly. He catches MJ’s glance up at him, and he responds with a very awkward, very Red Light-Green Light type of shoulder pat, because…

Well.

They have a point.

He gulps.

Turns to May.

 _Bow._ “Donna.”

“My beautiful boy,” she says, smiling at him then gesturing to Tony and Pepper. “You forget?”

Peter bows again, reading through his aunt’s tone. It’s lower and more reverent—a _thank you_ and a promise of loyalty all at once. “Don, Donna. Good night.”

“Nothing for our children?” Tony says, feigning aloofness. “Really, kid?”

(MJ chokes a little, coughs loudly as Ned pats her back.

She’s disappointed in herself for thinking drinking hot tea during a family gathering was a manageable idea.)

“Don’t push it, Tony,” May says with a roll of her eyes. She smiles at Peter and Karen, nodding once. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“In one piece, I promise,” Karen says, bowing her head slightly. “Don, Donnas.”

* * *

(Ned doesn’t tell Peter that MJ watches them go.)

* * *

(But hell, Friday’s Snapchat video was _way_ better, anyway.)

* * *

Tony wheels May up himself.

The mansion’s old, glory-filled staircases split down the middle, half flattening into a ramp before they make their ascent.

“I told you this would come in handy,” May says as they pass the second floor, marble and tile and rugs in a permanent state of clean. The ramp reverts to it’s stair setting after they reach the top of each staircase, quiet and quick.

“Ben would annoy Pepper about it every time he had to deliver something,” Tony says, chuckling. “You know how he is. _Was_.”

They roll to a stop at the front of her and Ben’s room on the third floor, claimed decades ago by Kind Al for his children’s use when in town. Notches on the edges of the doorframe slide by May’s sleeve—notches from a growing girl to a youth roughhousing with friends and cousins alike.

Notches from two newly-minted guardian-parents, trying to make a nephew’s stay as comfortable as possible.

Tony helps her up, guides her gently onto the bed. He tucks the sheets around her, fluffs up her extra pillows in uncharacteristic silence.

“I’m proud of how you’ve grown up,” May says, leaning back and closing her eyes. “Really. Really proud, _mio fratello_.”

Tony clears his throat. “If you want a new room, May—”

“This is my home,” she says gently, eyes still shut. “And I promised Ben.”

“That you wouldn’t switch rooms?”

“That I would always stay where I’m happy.”

Tony hums. “Then…there’s one last thing to take care of.”

May nods, eyes opening and darting to a photo of her and Ben on vacation, there, on top of her closet.

“Can you walk?”

“Schedule it, Tony,” she says, voice quaking slightly. She’s nearing her full health once more, strength reaching new heights each day and color back from it’s deathly, pale grey.

The Donna’s eyes close.

A shaky breath, a clenched jaw.

A promise to pay a debt.

“ _It’s time_.”

* * *

**_Fall, Freshman Year_ **

 

_Peter,_

_The sunflowers look lit. Steal me one._

_(Don’t actually, you suck at gardening and you’ll just kill it accidentally.)_

_It’s quiet over here. I like it. Tony’s getting another award next week, and he’s taking a bunch of us over for the ceremony._

_I know we FaceTimed, but how was your birthday? Like, real talk._

_I went to Delmar’s and did that, and I_ _definitely_ _still have allergies._

_Thanks for nothin’._

_Ned knows, but I don’t show him. Kinda ruins the whole point of it, I guess. Fun to have a semi-secret correspondence._

_The papers…Ned’s taking them. I don’t know. My parents are still alive, so it feels kind of…wrong._

_Even if they’re in stasis._

_I still don’t know if I’ll pull the plug. It’s been three years, but…_

_You know, this is the best they’ve ever been at parenting. The most present. I should be able to just…give the order._

_But, like. They’re still my parents? And they were trying, I could tell._

_Sorry if this brings up anything bad on your end. Call me if it does, Pete._

_This got long. Maybe I can compensate for your letters since college is kicking your ass and you JUST started._

_(Pepper’s got me on private tutors instead of going to actual school, but they’re all accredited and I’ll be on a strict, fully-booked class schedule for a couple years._

_It’s probably gonna be like MIT but on steroids.)_

_Don’t replace us,_

_MJ_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i 100% dont know any irish idioms so really who knows what friday meant
> 
> God bless fam and you know where to find me! *returns to hole*
> 
> _*jaws theme intensifies*_

**Author's Note:**

> may's maiden name afaik is reilly so i tried to find a close enough italian name that also managed to sound like Power so here we are
> 
> my dad's fault for binging the godfather films with me tbh
> 
> God bless fam; meet me in the comment pit or on tumblr @ doofwrites!


End file.
